


All Birds Fly South Eventually

by Sphynxel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, NSFW, Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Threats, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sphynxel/pseuds/Sphynxel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Bosmer, Thitte Springhollow, met a travelling priestess of Mara from the Great Chapel in Bravil when she lived in Whiterun. This inspired her to become a priestess of Mara when her family moved to Riften. She hadn't yet became a priestess, but did no less work for the Temple and for Mara than even the most astute priests. She devotes everything she does to the Divinity, and takes every opportunity to help people. Sometimes, however, those good deeds backfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Have a good day at work.” Thitte hugged both of her parents as they left the small, dusty house. She shuffled back to her room sleepy, even in the early morning light. She opened the door and dressed in the faded orange robes that all followers of Mara adorned. She gently tugged the thread-bare slippers to be worn there on her small feet and tied them in place. An Amulet of Mara hung under her robes, nestled softly on the swell of her breasts, but hidden from view.

With a quiet sigh and a meek smile, she shut the door to her room and left the house. The bosmer girl stopped by a beehive she had been nurturing. She held out a thin finger as a honeybee landed there, beating its wings a few times before crawling around. Upon realizing what he landed on was no flower, the bee flew away, landing on a blue mountain flower instead and nestling down into the petals.

Thitte picked it and tucked it into the braid on her shoulder, giggling quietly when the bee buzzed angrily, almost as if grumbling before flying away. "Sorry." She whispered to it as it flew from her sight.

Her footsteps were thuds against the wooden planks of Riften’s bridges. She made her way to the Temple of Mara where she worked, cleaning and spreading the words of love of Mara to passersby. The previous day she had slaved over scrubbing the entire temple, so today, she was rewarded by getting to hand out pamphlets about Mara in the market.

She smiled to herself and clutched the hand-written papers with yellow flowers. After the morning rush of travelling merchants and busy locals, she broke fast with Madesi, sitting on a barrel with him and letting the Argonian Jeweler talk about the latest piece he made. Her breakfast was simple; honeyed bread, a small slice of cheese and an apple, given to her by Synda on her trip into town.

As a beautiful red-haired Dunmer was about to leave, her husband came and met her at the gate. They began arguing and Thitte frowned, glancing to Madesi.

“I’m sorry, Madesi.” She interrupted his passionate spiel softly. He stopped and nodded.

“I understand. Go, do what you must.” He smiled at her and patted her gently on the shoulder. The short Bosmer hopped off the barrel and fixed her robes before gliding over towards the feuding couple.

“The bow is what you’re worried about?!” Synda exclaimed at her husband. “They took all the coins we had!”

“Excuse me?” Thitte spoke up carefully. “Are both of you alright? I’m sorry to butt in, I just, I saw you two arguing…”

“Yes, dear. We’re alright.” Dravin, the farmer’s husband, sighed and looked towards the city, speaking shortly and still rather irritably. No manner of politeness could cure his mood. “We’ve just been through a bit with thieves. I’ll bet it’s that damned guild that the guards are doing nothing about. The guards here are unbearably lazy--can’t even handle a few cutpurses! I ought to have _stayed in Morrowind_.” He ranted and grumbled. All the while, the Bosmer looked up and nodded, understandingly. She looked back to Dravin’s wife.

“They stole all you had?”

“Yes… including a prized bow and a dagger. That’s why I came out to walk Synda back.” Dravin admitted.

“That’s awful…” She gaped, but then managed a small smile. “Mara’s blessings on you.”

“Don’t need Mara’s blessing, need my bow.” Dravin asserted, looking away from the girl. “You know… if you had the guts to head into the Ratway and get it back, I’d pay what I could.”

The bosmer hesitated. She’d never wielded a dagger in her life, much less charged into a nest of thieves and bandits and the like. There could be assassins down there, for all she knew!

“I’m… not interested in monetary rewards.” She said, declining carefully. Dravin slumped but looked back to her after a moment.

“I’m sure the Temple could use a bit more in their donation box.” He made steady eye contact. Unnerved by the intense red look in his eyes, Thitte looked down at her feet then up at his wife.

“Dravin!” She yelled. “The girl’s hardly an adult--barely out of her childhood--and you just asked her to go to the _Ratway?! What’s gotten into you?!”_

“No. I can do it.” Thitte said suddenly, not favoring being referred to as a child. Maybe it would be good for her to experience it? “I can get your bow back. Here.” She held out one of the pamphlets. “Until then, Mara’s blessings upon you.”

“Thank you, daughter of the Temple.” Dravin said quietly, taking the pamphlet and looking over it remorsefully. 

Thitte smiled at the couple as they left the gate of Riften and shuffled back to the market center. The dashing Nord named ‘Brynjolf’ stood in his usual stall, pitching amazing potions and salves alike. To Thitte, he always had an air about him, something along the lines of mystery and adventure. So she avoided him as often as possible, blushing and averting her eyes when he would smile at her. She hadn’t even had the courage to hand him literature on Mara, though she did wish to, if even just to speak to the silk-voiced red-head. 

“Real Falmer Blood elixir.” He boasted, holding up a bottle of something that looked red in hue, and oddly white all the same. She bit her lip, smiling and informing passersby about the love of Mara. At midday, when people had stopped bustling through the market, he called out to her. “Girl, yes, you. Lovely elf.”

She felt fluttering in her chest, beating against the amulet of Mara. The bosmer carefully approached, doing her best not to blush at his compliment. He smiled charmingly at her and motioned her closer. “Yes, sir?” She spoke softly. She stood close enough to note that he smelled like leather, alcohol and smoke. Thitte hesitated upon recognizing the scents. This charming Nord was no doubt some manner of heathen. Perhaps she could, however, help him back onto a path of good? She wouldn't mind at all. Especially if he kept smiling at her like that and calling her lovely. 

“You’re about done there, aren’t you?” He noted, glancing down at the thinning pile of paper in her hands. It was not a question, but rather an observation.

“I-I am almost done.” She agreed, doing her best to keep eye contact, but unable to. Thitte glanced down and to the side, almost afraid to look at him.

“I don’t suppose you could assist me, then?” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, causing her to shy away and her blush to deepen. The simple touch was oddly warm.

“It depends; I may not be able to.” Thitte looked up at him through her lashes.

“You will, I promise, it is a simple task.”

“What is it?”

“Your father, he’s a guard, correct? You’re Springhollow?” He inquired, still smiling.

“Yes, he’s the guard to the jail.” She said ignorantly.

“Wonderful.” Brynjolf sounded relieved. “I’m in terrible trouble, you see.” He began, looking down. Thitte thought she saw something along the lines of apprehension or worry in his eyes. “I’ve gotten involved with the wrong sort. I’m looking to turn in what I have stolen, and I seek help from Mara.”

“T-Truly?” Thitte said, almost as if stricken across the cheek. Rarely did people come to her for help. She felt pride swell in her chest and she smiled widely. “I’d love to help you, sir.”

“Thank you, sweet child.” He thumbed a pamphlet from her, just barely brushing her hand. “Before dark, I would meet you outside of the Temple. Don’t want you out past dark, after all. All the thieves running about.”

“A-Alright.” She nodded and broke away from the man, blushing all the while she handed out the papers to passersby, giving them sweet words and blessings. Her blush was a pretty shade across her brown skin, that travelled up to the tips of her ears, where strands of hair were tucked delicately. After all the pamphlets were gone from her tiny hands, she remembered what Dravin asked of her, and she shuffled through Riften, quietly and carefully, lest she fall into the water, protected by untrustworthy and broken wooden rails.

Thitte entered the Ratway. It smelled awful and was truly just as bad. She scuttled by people who didn’t pay her any mind. Narrowly avoiding being snatched by someone’s grabbing hands, she ran softly in puddled water and hid behind a large wall, unsure of where she was now.

“Come out, little blue flower!” She heard a man’s voice call. “I won’t hurt you!” She shook her head. She didn’t believe him. Thitte crouched, trembling, and shrinking. She waited until she heard no one, to continue through the dark passages. Somehow, she managed to find what looked like a tavern. She pulled the hood of her robes up, instinctively frightened to show her face, for some odd reason. Would they just let her in? Let her take the bow?

Thitte walked along a wooden walkway. None of the people in odd leather armor talked to her, except for an elderly man, Breton by the looks of it.

“What’re you doin’ all the way down here, priest? In our lovely littl' nest?” He drawled, looking under her hood to make eye contact., then grinned wickedly. She gasped at the gesture and backed up.  _“Oh, priestess.”_

Thitte panicked and scurried through a nearby door. She shut it behind her and found a place to hide in the dark. She scarcely breathed, trying to keep quiet, but no one came after her. She continued down a dark hallway until she managed to sneak into a well-lit room. She found a bow lying on the table there and snagged it, attaching it to her back and returning to the Ragged Flagon, doing her best to keep her head down, as she was about to exit, a large Imperial man stepped in front of her.

“Vekel don’t like strangers snooping around the Flagon.” He stated as a warning. Thitte gasped and backed up.

“I’m sorry, sir.” She lowered her head. “I was just leaving.”

“Good. See that you do. Unless you want a few broken bones.” He growled, shoving her towards the exit. She stumbled and scurried away, clutching the bow for dear life.

She thought about the warning she recieved and sighed. Thitte began footing it to the farm where Dravin and Synda lived. The hour walk was easy and relatively safe. A guard walked close behind her, hand on his sword. Along the way she let her mind wander. She often had dreams about a knights from Cyrodill coming to take her away from Riften and to Bravil, where the Great Chapel of Mara was. Marry and settle in with her, raise a few children. She smiled at the thought, but dismissed it as the farm came into view.

“Thank you, Rundgelf.” She said to the guard.

“Anytime, Springhollow. I’ll wait here while you deliver that package.” He nodded and she shuffled towards the farm. Dravin was tirelessly plucking weeds from his plants.

“That’s it! That’s my bow!” He jumped up when he saw her. He ran over and swept her up in a hug. “Thank you! Here, keep it or put it in the donation, box.” He handed her a few blue gems. She smiled and put them in her pocket.

“Mar--”

“Mara’s blessing, yes, I know.” He laughed and shooed her away. She smiled over her shoulder and waved to his wife, happily trotting back to Riften, city guard in tow.

“Be careful, Thitte. Watch your back out there.” Rundgelf warned. “Your father would be devastated if something were to happen.”

“I will, thanks again!” She chirped, practically skipping to the Temple of Mara, it was almost dusk. She deposited the gems in the box, and picked up a broom from the corner. She began to sweep the chapel. By the time she finished it was well into dusk. She put the broom away and tentatively stepped out of the Temple. She waited outside on the staircase until she saw Brynjolf. He walked over to her, still wearing the fine clothes he did in the market.

“Oh, lass, something terrible has happened.” He looked at his feet sadly. “You know restoration magic, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes. I know Restoration.” Thitte nodded. “Are you okay?”

“It’s my friend, he needs help.  _Hurry,_  please.” Brynjolf led her behind the Temple and through a dark path. She was frightened by it, but Brynjolf grasped her hand tightly, and that gave her some manner of relief. They came in front of a large stone fence. “He’s right inside. He’s badly injured.” He gestured to the open iron gate, glancing over his shoulder. She entered and jumped as it shut behind her.

“Here, girl.” She heard a harsh, gravelly voice call. She trotted over, healing spell ready on her fingertips. “Up the ramp.”

She could hardly see it had become so dark, but she followed the cloaked man in through a door. It shut and locked behind them. She hesitated, realizing what had just happened.

“Foolish girl.” The man laughed. It was not a mirthful laugh, but a mocking one. Thitte made to scream but a hand clamped down over her mouth as her hood fell back. The blue mountain flower fell on the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like such a douchebag for writing this but... eh. I am a douchebag, so here you go.

She was dragged through the house, kicking all the way there. She did her best not to cry, did her best to get away, but it was fruitless. The hand was moved and she felt the man behind reach around her and tie her wrists, with rough and scratching rope.

“Please, sir,” she begged, feeling tears prickle at her eyes.

“Quiet. Or do I have to gag you?” He hissed. Before she could turn to look at her captor, a blindfold was secured over her eyes. She shut her mouth and lowered her head. “That’s a good girl.” He growled. “You’ll be waiting a while, might as well sit down.” He tugged her towards a chair and she sat, uncomfortably shifting and trying to move her wrists. “Stay here, don’t cause trouble and you probably won’t get hurt.”

Thitte nodded, nervously picking at her robes. She heard footsteps and another door locking, and it took her a moment to realize she was alone. The Bosmer relaxed a bit playing with the chain of the amulet around her neck, thankful that they didn’t steal it from her. Perhaps they didn’t notice the bumps under the thin fabric of her monk robes? All the better, she did her best to hide it, lest someone misunderstand her reason for wearing it.

Occasionally, she would hear voices talking. Sometimes footsteps. Someone entered her room again, but she never heard him. It was the same man from earlier. She had surmised that he was on the shorter side in stature when he grabbed her, so he must have been a Breton. He smelled similar to how Brynjolf did. Smoke, leather, but in place of alcohol, Thitte smelled something intoxicatingly unfamiliar. Then she realized what it was. The smell of witch grass, dried and ground into powder. In the form of powder, the best use was poisons, but it could be used in small quantities to help one sleep. Witchgrass had a naturally musky scent and it carried wherever this man was, it seemed.

“S-Sir?” She spoke up, doing her best not to sound weak. She wished she could sound as steady as Maramal.

“What is it, girl?” The man spat venomously. Thitte flinched, not realizing how close he was to her. The proximity made the hairs on her neck and arms raise with an unsettled brisk.

“Why am I here? I… I didn’t do anything wrong, I was just trying to help my friend,” She hesitated, remembering Brynjolf. She began to worry. “Did you hurt him?”

“No, he’s done his job, so he’s fine.” He sighed. “You’re here as ransom.”

“Ransom--oh, no, please, my family doesn’t have much money--I don’t think they’ll be able to pay…”

“Oh no, dear.” He said sarcastically. “It’s not money. It’s an exchange. You for one of ours. Your father is the guard that arrested him, after all.”

Thitte’s small heart pattered uncontrollably. “H-He can’t do that, though… that’s illegal.”

“Child, you are so innocent that it disgusts me.” He stated gruffly.

“I’m not a child…” She muttered under her breath. A hand seized her jaw, jolting and scaring her.

“What was that?” He demanded, fingers digging in painfully. “What did you say?” His voice felt like spiders running up her neck and spine. She shuddered and tried to shrink away.

“I-I’m sorry!” She said quickly. “I-I said I’m not a child…”

“Oh?” He snorted. “How old are you, then?”

“I’m nineteen winters.” Thitte managed, trying to sound proud.

“Have you even ever held a knife? Had a sip of alcohol? Been fucked? _You're a child_.” He let go of her face and she bowed her head, rubbing her cheeks with her bound hands.

“You’re vulgar…” She managed, put on edge by the questions. “I-I’m going to be a priestess of Mara, I have no need for violence, or alcohol, or sinful things done outside of marriage…”

“Oh, _please_.” He laughed at her response, cruelly.

“Why does it matter to you?” Thitte managed to sound angry, despite the slight tremble of nervousness or… excitement? She immediately disregarded the thought, fidgeting.

“Because if your father is as stubborn as the Nords he works for, and doesn’t do what we say, we’ll have to get compensation some other way. If you’re a virgin, I’m sure I can get a good price for you in Markarth.”

“What…?” The bosmer croaked, pressing back into the chair. She felt her breath catch with worry. “N… No, please! I’ll pay you what I can-- I have money-- please!” She begged, frightened to say the least. “Please don’t sell me--I can pay you!”

“Oh? And how much is that, girl?”

“I-I have 800 septims…” The bosmer bit the inside of her cheek.

“That’s hardly anything. I could get at least 1000 for a night with you, maybe 10,000 to sell you off for good.” He chided. “Why does an acolyte have 800 septims? Don’t monks live on only what they have to?”

“I-I’m saving up to travel to Cyrodiil… to Bravil…”

“Let me guess. The _Chapel to Mara._ ” He said, voice wrung with sarcasm and contempt.

“Y-Yes… Please… I’ve taken a vow of celibacy until I marry… you can’t sell me…” She pleaded with the sadistic kidnapper.

“I can _do_ what I want.” A hand wrapped around her throat. “Take what I want. I’m a thief. That’s what we do, regardless of some ignorant maid’s pleas.” The hand tightened ever so slightly and she let out a small whimper of fear. What a vocal little bird he had trapped. 

“I’ll pay… please.” She managed. Thitte would have traded an arm to be able to see the man’s reaction, because he was deathly silent, and his hand betrayed nothing; no tremble of anger or excitement. She might as well have been bargaining with a Dwarven Mechanism for all the good it was doing her. She swallowed thickly, somewhat obstructed by the restricting hand.

“If your father does not pay, then I will accept payment from you.” He said coldly and the blindfold was ripped from her. She gasped at the sudden aggressive movement and blinked in the dim candle light. The room had no windows and, much to her fright, had been soundproofed with thick wool all around the walls and floors. There were cuffs built for chains on the wall and several instruments of torture. She glanced down at the chair and noticed the straps it had and adjustable legs and arms. A chill crept up her spine as she glanced up to her captor. He was a Breton, just as she had thought. Though he was much older than she expected, for all the strength and ambition he had in his actions and voice. He paused and narrowed his eyes. They were strikingly grey and cold as the metal of a sword, likewise, they held some sparks of green. His hair was dirty blonde, but quickly greying. His features were sharp and harsh and his scowl left wrinkles along his face, yet… He had some sort of roguish handsomeness that drew Thitte’s eyes despite her best attempt to look away. “Of course, it won’t be enough.”

Her eyes shot back to his, widening a fraction. His reflected none of the pity she thought he had taken from her and she slumped back as he leaned forward, planting his hands on the arms of the chair. “Y-You’re going to sell me…?”

“No, little pipit.” He tilted his head, grabbing her face and turning it, almost clinically in motion. “I’m not going to sell you. I’m going to use you.” He explained, letting go of her face and looking her over as if she were some sort of prize. “You stole a bow from the Guild, earlier. So you stole something from me. That marks you not only a thief, but a stupid one.”

“I’m not a thief!” She protested, a bit less frightened and a bit more angry. It was a welcome relief from the skin-crawling fear that she began to associate with the grey thief. He looked down at her, narrowing his eyes again.

“So you think you’re a hero? Steal from thieves and give to the needy farmer?” He almost laughed, but the scowl stayed firmly in place.

“I-... I did the right thing. Lady Mara would be proud.” She said, raising her chin and doing her best not to shake.

“You still stole from me, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes you my enemy. Do you know what I do to my enemies?” He leaned forward again. His breath hit her face. It smelled like ale and made her recoil.

“No, sir…” She found herself submissive once again.

“I break them. Do you want to be hurt?” He grabbed her wrists to get her attention. His grip was harsh and painful.

“No, sir.” She replied, glancing down at his hands and trying to tug her own away.

“Then you should do what I say, and never try and challenge my authority again. Is that understood, girl?” He growled, squeezing her wrists until she looked him in the eye. Her eyes were red with oncoming tears. He let go and pulled his dagger.

“No--please--” She shrunk back but he snipped the ropes binding her wrists. The thief put the dagger away. She rubbed her raw wrists and looked down at them, a bit of blood had been drawn there. A faint glow played at her fingertips and the minute abrasions.

“You do know Restoration.” He grunted, grabbing her hand and looking at her wrist. “Not as useless as I thought then.”

She averted her curious gaze, trying to pull her hand away. This time, he allowed the tiny hand to slip from his worn grip. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Pipit.”

Thitte looked up at him, obediently and hatefully all at once. “Good girl.” He said, still not changing his expression. “You can start by cleaning up this room. There’s blood over there that I don’t want rotting my floor.” He backed up and let her stand shakily. “If you leave this room, I’ll have you beaten by one of my mercenaries.” He warned and caused her to shudder involuntarily. He had mercenaries?

Once again alone in the room, Thitte sighed and grasped her amulet. She tugged it from her robes and looked at it. Overcome with emotions she was trying her best to stifle, she knelt and grasped the amulet, bowing her head and praying fervently to Mara. Satisfied and a bit more calm, she tucked the amulet into her robes and looked at the spilled blood with disgust.

She glanced at the bucket and cloth on the table next to the bloodsplatter. She dipped the rag in the water and knelt. She was often used to cleaning spills of wine or food at home, and scrubbing the steps leading to the Temple of bootprints, but never blood. Not this sort, anyway.

After a while the stains relented and she was finished. Thitte stood up and glanced around. _Well,_ she had the means to clean the rest of the room, and probably the time. She carried the much-too-full bucket of water over to where implements of torture hung on the wall and spread over a table. The bosmer maid washed each one, careful to avoid cutting herself on the edges of the sharper ones, or pinching her tender and unmarred skin on the more confusing and eerie ones. She managed to scrub some of the rust from them and replaced them exactly where they were before.

Next she made her way with the bucket to something she recognized as a Rack. For stretching people apart. Her father told her they used something like it to extract information from evil people, about evil things. There was a disturbing amount of stained blood at the top right. It look as though a limb was pulled clean off. She washed it nonetheless, careful to not somehow hurt herself on the device. She stood on her tiptoes and bent to reach the underside of the top of the device. There were no tell-tale signs that someone was in the room, but a throat being cleared made Thitte jump and turn around quickly. The grey thief stood in front of the shut door.

“You _cleaned_ the entire room.” He noted, glancing around. “Even the tools.” His voice gave nothing but dark amusement away.

“I… I’m sorry?” Thitte looked at the Rack, hesitant to finish what she started.

“Your dear father won’t pay.” He advanced towards her. She backed up, backing into the Rack and dropping the cloth. “And I have a reputation to uphold.”

“What do you mean?” She dumbly asked, catching the bait.

“That means I can’t let you go unscathed, even if you pay me. It would look bad for me, and my patrons.” He said, glancing at the tools lining the wall. She held her breath.

“N-No.” She shook her head, darting to the side only to be caught by the arm. He gripped the thin arm mercilessly. “Please don’t torture me--please! Let me talk to my father--we can work something out!”

“I’ve made up my mind.” The thief decided. “You’ll not return home at all.”

“Don’t sell me!” She pleaded. The man growled and yanked her towards him.

“Don’t interrupt me or I will.”

She flinched but nodded.

“Good girl. Now, do I have to chain you, or will you walk?”

“I-I’ll walk, sir…” Thitte tugged herself away and followed the thief.

“Mercer Frey.” Mercer corrected. “Sir is fine, however, if you insist.”

“Yes, Mercer.” She hesitated and glanced at the numerous mercenaries as they passed them. One reached out, slapping her on the rear as she walked. Thitte squeaked, causing Mercer to pause and glance over his shoulder. The mercenary laughed and returned to his seat. The bosmer shifted where she stood, clearly uncomfortable. The thief grumbled and yanked her beside him by her upper arm. She winced at the tight grip and shuffled to keep up.

“Down that ladder.” He pointed and she gathered her robes to her knees, carefully descending. She waited at the bottom while the Breton managed his way down. She eyed obviously lain traps, worrying for her safety now a bit more.

“Don’t get ahead of me and you’ll be fine. Watch your feet.” He instructed and she did as she was told, stepping over tripwires, nearly on the heel of her captor.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked quietly.

“Cistern.” He grunted.

“Am I going to be allowed to leave?” She inquired again. This time the thief glared back at her. His eyes were startlingly clear in the shadows.

“Perhaps in the morning. Maybe a week, a fortnight, a season.” He shrugged, walking once again. Eventually, they ended up in a large room, with a pool of water in the center, and bridges of stone connecting the different sides of the room. Thitte shuffled uncomfortably, catching the gaze of a few people as she stayed close to Mercer, almost as though for protection, as ridiculous as it seemed. He led her towards a bed and pointed to it. It had a trunk at the end of it. “You’re sleeping there. Remember which one is yours. Follow me.” She did.

They walked over to a desk.

“Ground rules.” He began. “I’m the Guildmaster, so everyone here obeys me, _especially_ you. If I tell you something, the only person you’re allowed to repeat it to is me. If I find you leaked any information, I’ll cut out your tongue. Steal from me, or anyone here and it’ll be your fingers.”

She blanched but nodded quickly. “Good.” He repeated, glancing down at the ledger. “When you aren’t doing work, you may sleep or wander around, but when I leave, you come with me unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Thitte barely breathed and did her best not to cry again. This is what fate decided for her? Servant to some sadistic thief? She sighed and tried to think of anything else. Maybe Lady Mara sent her to deliver these people from their sins. She smiled at the thought.

“For now you can clean this place.” He nodded towards a broom and she picked it up, beginning at her large task.

Thitte let her mind wander to better places. Brighter places where sunlight lit her footsteps and Mara whispered to her sweetly. The bosmer girl smiled to herself as she lost herself in the action of sweeping. She imagined she was in her temple, sweeping quietly while Maramal and Dinya spoke of their love for each other. While Alessandra bitterly grumbled about having to tend to Arkay’s rites and rituals by herself. While Briehl told her stories about his time spent at war, and about his time spent in Cyrodiil. She paused in her sweeping when she almost swept against someone’s foot.

“A Priestess of Mara?” A woman hissed.

“A-An acolyte, ma’am.” Thitte shrunk away but slowly looked up at the beautiful Nord woman. Her hair was tucked back in a pony tail and her stunning blue eyes bore into Thitte’s soft brown eyes.

“What’re you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes and glanced at Mercer. The Guildmaster was leaned over a large book, writing something down. Her gaze softened and she looked back at Thitte, almost with pity, or understanding.

“What I’m told, ma’am.” Thitte replied, bowing her head.

“I’m Sapphire.” The Nord said more quietly. “If anyone tries to touch you, you come talk to me, got it?”

Thitte hesitated, gripping the broom, confused. A thief was looking out for her. “Excuse me for being… blunt, but… why would you care?”

“Being raped isn’t pleasant.” She said, grabbing the face of the girl to get her full attention. “It’s something I would wish on no one.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Thitte looked her in the eye until Sapphire let go. "Mara's Blessing." She went back to sweeping dutifully, avoiding everyone else’s gazes. Luckily, however, no one else tried to talk to her, no one else tried to touch her like the rude mercenary did.

That is, until someone did. Talk to her, that is. She had just finished sweeping and was rounding the room so she could put the broom away. Brynjolf grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him. She gasped at the sudden action.

“ _Thitte?"_ He narrowed his eyes. “Oh. I didn’t expect that to happen.” He grimaced and glanced over to the Guildmaster. A small spark of fury built up to an insignificant flame.

“Don’t touch me.” Thitte said with surprising strength.

“It was a job, Thitte. I have nothing against you.” He held fast to her shoulder. She tried to pull away from him. She tried to muster the strength to respond angrily, but she resigned and looked down at her feet. When he let go, she passed him and put the broom away. Mercer glanced up at her and she instinctively flinched. He didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Thitte waited for a command, but upon receiving none, she walked to the bed that was hers and hesitantly sat on it. Cautious. As though it could bite her.

The bosmer pulled her thin shoes off and warily crawled under the blankets, curling up into a fetal position and tucking the blankets under her chin. She laid there for a while before she felt the strings of sleep wrap around her loosely. She yawned and closed her eyes, letting it embrace her. This day, or night, rather, was something she’d rather forget about.

“Wake up, girl.” She heard Mercer’s harsh voice, but it sounded distant, or underwater. She opened her eyes, blinking and glancing up at him. He stood beside her. “We’re leaving.” She got out of bed, pulling on her slippers and following him. They took the same passage back to the building she was kidnapped in. This time, however, she wasn’t led to a room used for torture. He guided her to a bedroom and felt her blood run cold. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to sell her? Could she get to Sapphire? Could Sapphire even protect her from this frightening man?

“Well?” He interrupted her train of thought.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” She looked up at him.

“I said, bed, or bedroll?” He asked again, snarling this time.

“B-Bed?”

“Then go.” He pointed to a large four-poster bed. She hesitantly crawled into it, glancing around the rather empty and undecorated room. She settled in it, easily dwarfed by the size of it.

After a moment she heard the sound of leather hitting the floor and her heart lurched as she realized that the man must have been stripping. She shut her eyes tightly, burrowing into the bed. When a weight dipped the bed next to her she curled up more securely, pleading silently, praying and gripping her amulet so tightly, it might have drawn blood from her if she held on any more restrictively. A hand spread across her side and her heart hammered in her chest, almost painfully.

Mercer dragged the small Bosmer up against him and looped his arm around her possessively. Confused and frightened, she stayed deathly still and kept her eyes clenched shut.

“Relax, you prude. I don’t plan on fucking you.” He murmured against her neck. Thitte opened her eyes slightly and realized the man beside her was clothed. She could have sighed in relief, but was still too nervous to do so. “Are you wearing a damn amulet?” He growled now. His hand laced around the front of her and pushed her hand away from it. He gripped it and ripped it from her neck, causing her to gasp at the sudden violence and flinch. He groggily looked it over and she rubbed her neck. It wasn’t bleeding, but she knew the chain had snapped.

“An Amulet of Mara,” Mercer sneered. “How expected.” He tossed it and it hit the floor loudly. Thitte felt tears sting her eyes at the loss of it. “You’re disgustingly innocent.”

“I’m sorry…” She breathed, blinking tears away as they slid down her temple.

“You ought to be. Has nothing of this city gotten to you?” He muttered against her skin, pulling her hair from its braid and pushing it over her shoulder so that it wasn’t in his face. The arm returned to her waist and she was tugged flush against the man. She shuddered with quiet sobs, but Mercer didn’t speak of it, and eventually she registered that his breathing had evened out, and that he was likely asleep.

Thitte wanted nothing more than to leave at that moment. She wanted to run away from this. She was in bed with a man she didn’t love, who didn’t love her. He was touching her and pressing against her and not letting her move. She felt dirty, in more ways than one. She bit her lip as her lower regions churned. She shut her eyes even tighter and held back a vocal hint of her tears. Mara help her. She wanted her freedom again.

She wasn’t sure how, but eventually she relaxed, unable to deny the comfort that the body heat her captor provided. She slipped asleep, only to be awoken, in what felt like a matter of moments. She knew it was longer, though, because her tears had dried and morning light filtered through a foggy window.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The bosmer noted the cold area on her back where Mercer had been. Something light was tossed on her. She sat up, startled. She heard an annoyed and short laughter at her reaction. She looked up to see Mercer, already in the leather armor he wore.

“Get dressed.” He told her, pointing to the dress thrown on her. She glanced up, confused when she noted it was one of her own. “I had someone retrieve your things, since they’re just going to gather dust in your old room.”

“Oh… thank you…?” She picked up the dress and crawled out of bed. Why couldn't he have grabbed one of her robes? Did it have to be this? She hesitated. “Where can I change?”

“Right there.” He answered as if she had asked a stupid question.

She turned away from him, hesitantly unfastening her robes. She heard no movement behind her, and carefully tried to change without showing much skin. She failed and the thin fabric of her robes slipped from her fingers. Thitte quickly pulled the dress over her head and laced up the bodice. She gathered her robes and folded them.

“Leave them on the floor and they’ll be washed.”

Not wanting to invoke some sort of anger from him, she obeyed and sat them on the floor. She slipped her small feet into the provided boots.

“No need, you’ll be staying here for the morning. I’ll have someone bring you food.” He stated and left, locking the door behind him. Thitte looked around before recognizing most of her alchemy supplies, as well as a makeshift alchemy table laid out. She gasped and ran over to it, letting herself grin childishly. She sat in the chair and began arranging them. The bosmer began to make a health potion but paused, realizing that Mercer might have her make potions for him, to help pay him back. She frowned and sat the ingredients down, noticing the books that had been collected from her room. Her face began to burn as she realized the book that sat on top of the pile, that she had done so well at hiding from her parents. ‘Thief of Virtue.’ Groaning, she sheepishly hid the book under a few of the others and vowed to burn it if she got the chance to. He had probably only retrieved it to mock her, or embarrass her. How did the thief that broke in even find it? She thought she did so well at hiding the sinful thing!

“Breakfast.” The word was the only announcement she got before the door was thrown open and a large Nord charged in. She startled and looked up at him. “Did I scare you, princess?” She recognized it as the mercenary that had taken interest in her rear.

“Sorry.” She bowed her head and glanced down at his hands. He held a plate of cheese and some sort of soup. He sat it down and shut the door. Thitte froze when she realized he shut it, with himself still in the room. She hesitantly took the tray and pulled it in front of her. Nervously, she looked up at him to find him watching her. Did he have to watch her eat?

Taking a small bite, the elf hesitantly ate, afraid to ask. Afraid he would hit her again. She somehow managed to eat when an armored hand gripped her hair. She flinched and looked down at her lap.

“Never had an elf before.” He briefly noted, tugging her hair and forcing him to look at her. “Get on the bed, elf.”

“No…” Thitte shook her head.

The mercenary grumbled something and picked her up by her arm, tossing her onto it and crawling on top of her.

“No!” She yelled, pushing at him as much as possible. He pinned her arms above her head and slapped her across the face before turning her onto her belly and lifting her hips into the air until her backside jutted out towards him. She continued to protest until she heard a knife being drawn.

“You tell me ‘no’ one more time and I’ll fuck you with this, instead.” He warned, pressing the tip of the knife to her back, as if his words didn’t frighten her enough. Thitte whimpered but nodded, burying her face into the blankets and gripping desperately. Her skirts were thrown over her hips and the dagger was sat down.

“Please…” She begged.

“Shut your fucking mouth or I’ll stuff it with somethin’.” He growled into her ear, running a hand down her rear. “Your tits are small, but you have a plump ass. Young.” He squeezed roughly, running his hand down her sex without a hint of gentleness and began rubbing her through her smalls. She whimpered, trembling and crying uncontrollably now. The door opened. There was a sigh.

“You shouldn’t be doin’ that. Mercer’ll be mad if you’ve been taking liberties with his property. Heard her screamin’. Figured.” A voice spoke up.

“Doesn’t pay enough.” The mercenary touching her growled, trying to decide between following through and leaving. He grumbled again before tugging her skirts back down and moving off of the bed. Thitte let out a sob and scurried away.

“You better hope she doesn’t tell him.” The Imperial mercenary said to the Nord.

“You gonna tell, girl?”

Thitte shook her head vigorously. “I-I’m sorry…” She managed. “I won’t t-tell…”

“Lucky.” The Imperial man noted. “Come on. ‘Fore he gets back.” The two mercenaries left. Thitte shuddered, feeling nausea bubble in her belly. She shuddered and cried and curled up into herself. Why had Mara let her be here? In this awful place? She got touched… almost got raped. She wanted to save her virginity for her wife or husband, the knight or priest of Mara from Cyrodiil she dreamt about. She almost got that taken from her.

Thitte retrieved the amulet from the floor and looked at the broken chain. Her fingers fell shakily over it as she tied the broken chain behind her neck and tried to tuck it into her dress, but found the cut of the dress was too low to cover it.

She sighed and stood up, still shaking from her encounter. Thitte walked over to the window and used the sleeve of her dress to rub the fog away. She pulled the chair next to it and looked out over the horizon. It looked far beyond the city and glazed over the nature of Skyrim.

She took a book from the top of the pile. She smiled at the picture of Mara painted on it and opened it. Every now and again, her thumb dragged a page to the otherside.

“Thitte.” Mercer’s voice caused her to jump. She looked up from her book. He narrowed his eyes, looking her over. “So it was true.” He murmured, dropping something on the floor in front of her. She gasped when she realized it was a hand. A severed hand, still bleeding. She hadn’t heard any screams. Thitte held back her own scream at the gory sight with a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened when she realized whose hand it was. She recognized the bracer on it. She shot out of the chair, backing up from it and looking back up at Mercer. He had some manner of grin, but she saw it as more of a sneer.

“Y-You… I… Am I really your property?” Of all the questions dancing through her head, she asked that one.

“Yes, you are.” He said, grabbing a piece of her hair. Thitte looked away. “What? Did you expect something else? You’re mine, elf.”

“I don’t want to be.” She said quickly. “I want to be in the Temple.”

“That’s too bad. Come. We're leaving.” Mercer said.

“No…” She shook her head, sitting down defiantly. “I won’t. Sell me.”

He paused and looked back at her, one of his normal rude looks exchanged for that of shock. Then anger. He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her away from the chair, causing her to drop the book and stumble to her knees at his feet. She gasped as he tightened his hold on her hair. “Do I have to show you who’s in control here? I decided not to sell you. I gave you that mercy. I own you now, so you’ll do what I say, or you’ll get punished.”

Thitte bowed her head when he wanted her to. She sighed.

“Yes, sir… I'm sorry.”

“No you aren't.” He snorted, tugging her hair up to make her look at him. “Should I make you? I can if I want to.”

“No--” She suddenly remembered the torture chamber and shook her head. One fear of him passed and another took its place.

“I can degrade you, and hurt you.” He promised as moisture once again came to her eyes. He squared his jaw, deep in thought. His eyes betrayed an inward battle. He couldn’t decide whether he liked seeing her like this or not. “I know so much about you. I can use those things against you. If it would please me, I could go and kill both of you parents, right now. I know where they are. Your mother is currently at home, mourning the loss of her daughter. Your father is begging audience with the Jarl. Unsuccessfully, because my people keep him from it.”

“No…” She began, hoarse with choked fear. “I’ll obey… I’ll be good! I promise.” She gripped onto the bottom of his cuirass, tears dripping down her cheeks. She had never cried so much in her life than in the past two days. “I’ll be good.” She repeated when he didn’t respond.

“Prove it.” He said, expressionless.

“How?” She began to tremble again, tiny hands gripping onto him desperately. He let go of her hair and brushed it out of her face.

“Pleasure me.” His voice was filled with unmet expectation.

Thitte immediately drew her hands back, frightened by his blunt request. “I-I’ve taken a vow of celibacy until marriage.. I can’t do that…”

“I’m not asking for your cunt, I’m commanding you to pleasure me. Use that spiteful mouth of yours.” He held eye contact until she glanced away.

“I don’t know how…” She said shyly, afraid to touch him but afraid to move. Was she afraid to move? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized that she didn’t want to. That she wanted to do something dirty. Wanted to know what it was like. Frightened by those thoughts, she stared at the floor.

“I know you don’t.” He shifted and when she glanced back at him he had his cock out of his pants. She averted her eyes quickly, blushing at the proximity and leaning away. “Are you going to obey or do I have to act on my warnings?”

“I-I’ll obey.” Thitte hesitantly brought her hand up to the half-hard member and wrapped her tiny hand around it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Stroke it.” He instructed, wrapping her hand in his and moving it up and down along the length. Thitte averted her eyes and copied the action, face burning hot with a blush. She trembled and it felt as though someone struck her hand with a lightning spell; it burnt. He let go of her hand once she began to do it on her own. “Open your mouth.” He breathed impatiently. She hadn’t noticed the change, but he was fully hard now. She looked up to him uncertainly but did open her mouth, just a fraction. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed her head forward, member gliding across her wet tongue and into her mouth.

Thitte shut her eyes tightly as he hit the back of her throat, gagging and choking her momentarily before groaning with pleasure. Breath didn't meet her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, daring not to bite. He was watching her intently. He pulled back, almost completely out of her mouth. She shut her eyes again as he shoved back into her, gagging her once again.

Mercer revelled in the sensation of the wet heat of her mouth and began to move her head, still gripping tightly at her hair. Everytime she choked and gagged he twitched with pleasure, so he did it with every stroke, hitting the back of her throat and staying there for a moment before pulling back, only to do it once again. A hand fell to her throat and he began to squeeze it lightly, causing her to whimper with panic. He didn’t remove it until it pleased him or he thought she may black out from the lack of oxygen.

This sort of treatment carried on for quite a while, and by the time he finally allowed his orgasm to escape him, her knees were tired and her scalp burnt and her head swam. He finally pulled out of her mouth and stroked himself a few more times before his seed spurt over her tear-stricken face. She flinched but kept her eyes closed as the thick substance dripped from her. When he finally let go of her hair, she lowered her head, wiping her face off and trembling with oncoming sobs. Never before in her life had she felt more ashamed of herself, and disgustingly warm.

“I’ll accept your obedience.” He said finally. “Clean yourself up and grab your cloak.” He pointed to a water basin and she stood up, shakily finding purchase on her knees and walking over to it. She washed her face off and mouth out, silently praying and apologizing and pleading for help. Finally clean of that awful man’s disgusting semen, she grabbed the cloak he pointed to and pulled it on. “Pull the hood up. We’re leaving town.”

She did as he instructed, thankful that it hid her shameful face. She could still taste him on her tongue and the thought made her want to cry again.

He guided her from the room and through the manor. They passed through Riften without anyone stopping them and asking who she was… The thought that no one besides her dad was looking for her made her feel numb. Hadn’t Maramal or Dinya noticed she wasn’t at the Temple? Surely they would worry. Not even the guards stopped Mercer as they walked out of town.

“Come, girl. I have a horse.” He pushed her towards the stables and held onto her shoulder possessively with one hand, gripping the horse’s reins with the other and tugging the stallion from the stall. The brown stallion waited patiently while Mercer helped Thitte onto the saddle. He mounted behind her and wrapped his arms around her to situate the reins. With a loud snap the stallion took off, causing Thitte to panic and grip onto Mercers knees for some type of support. He glanced down at the Bosmer momentarily before glancing back to the road.

After a while, Thitte hesitantly rested back against Mercer, back aching from the riding. She’d never ridden a horse before for so long, and never like this. “Sir..?” Thitte looked back and up at him.

“What is it?” He growled, gripping the reins and snapping them again. Thitte startled at the noise.

“Where are we going?”

“Solitude.” He grunted.

“T-That’s a several day ride..” She almost whimpered at the thought of this for several days.

“It’s a three day ride, and we won’t be riding through the night.” His voice was right against ear. Thitte bit her lip, feeling a blush hit her cheeks. Mercer glanced down at her turned away face, noticing how the tips of her ear had gotten red. He mentally paused and allowed himself a grin at the thought of taking the innocent virgin away from her precious morals. The thief watched the road. It was dark already.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Spotting an open riverbank, Mercer steered the horse off the road and dismounted, holding a hand out to Thitte. She hesitantly placed her tiny palm on his larger one, shakily getting down from the saddle and using a tree to support most of her weight. Her knees didn’t want to work after the rough treatment of saddleback. The master thief watched her for only a moment, tying the horse to a tree, right next to the calm water and setting a bundle of carrots in front of it. The stallion bent its head to accept the gift. Sensing he was being watched, he shot his eyes to the side, narrowing them at the bosmer and causing her to start and look away, embarrassed at being caught.

“Set out the bedroll, Thitte.” He instructed, stretching when she looked away and beginning to build a small fire.

Thitte pulled the rolled bedroll from the saddle where it was tied and found even ground to lay it out on. She sat the main mat down, tucked the blanket on it and sat the pillow on top. She paused in her action, shoulders slumping when she realized there was only one. Did this man mean to make her hate herself? Was he trying to embarrass her? Surely he knew what he was doing. She jumped when she heard a fire flare. Mercer handed her half a loaf of bread and a pouch of berries. The wood elf’s movements were restrained and apprehensive as she took the offered food.

“Sit down, girl.” He pointed to the ground. Thitte sat, close to the fire, nibbling on the offered food, untrustingly watching Mercer. “Do Bosmer really eat their dead?” He startled her with the suddenness and foreignness of the question.

“Yes.” Thitte grew uncomfortable with the chill in the air. “Valenwood is a smaller province, and the death toll is great. If the Bosmer of the Trees buried their dead as the Nords did, there would be no room for plants.” She said steadily, finishing the bread and popping a few pink berries into her mouth.

“Is that not cannibalism?” Mercer seem unaffected by it, despite his question.

“It is. Cannibalism of the dead is not a crime. So long as they were previously dead. Though, I admit to have never eaten flesh.. in such a way. I don’t plan to… with my parents.” She swallowed the berries and closed the pouch, growing stiff at the thought. Her eyes delved into the dancing flames of the small camp fire. “Will I ever see them again?” Despite her unusual calm, she felt herself begin to tremble slightly, with yet another wave of ungainly grief.

“Perhaps. If you obey me, in a year, or maybe a season, I’ll let you go. Or if your father releases my thief.”

Thitte sighed and folded her hands in her lap politely, picking at her clothes. Mercer watched her movements then glanced back down at his own meal, easily dismissing her melancholy state and apathetically finishing his food. When he glanced to his elf girl again, she was praying. Bent head and folded hands over the amulet he thought he’d destroyed. Mercer sneered at the sight of it and briefly thought about throwing it into the river. He huffed in frustration but let her have that small reprieve.

As he watched her full lips form words he couldn’t hear, he thought, perhaps, in exchange for allowing her to keep the amulet he could pay her some small cruelty when they laid down to sleep. His eyes raked over her form as she rocked back and forth ever so slightly. When she opened her eyes she glanced over to Mercer. He stared for a moment before looking away and hauling himself off the ground.

“What were you praying for?” He asked jarringly. “You’re not escaping me, if that’s what you were hoping. There’s not a place in Tamriel you could go to hide from me.” He paced over to her and she backed up, but stayed seated, training her eyes on the fire and pointedly trying to ignore him. “Even if you did briefly get away.” He began, grabbing a handful of her hair, but not yet pulling. Instead, he just examined it, as if trying to determine her value. “I would find you, and you can not imagine what you would go through after I got my hands on you again.”

Much to his surprised she turned her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she frowned. She didn’t reply, but instead, looked away. Thitte expressed a small amount of defiance through the action, but not enough for him to lash out of her. He glared for a moment, causing her to break under his scrutiny and hunched her shoulders a little, but not enough to tug her hair from his hand. “Take your clothes off.” His eyes held hers steadily and he grinned openly when her own widened a bit and darted away. She stood up and backed up and turned away.

Thitte’s little heart was beating erratically as she stared at the ground and began to unlace her bodice, doing the most she could to avoid the thief’s probing gaze and hide her front from him. She winced, clenching her eyes shut and gathered her skirts up, pulling the dress over her head and holding it against her front. She flinched when she felt hands on her back, untying her breast band. She bit the inside of cheek until she tasted the tang of blood. Deft fingers tugged her smalls down until they dropped to her ankles. She stayed deathly still and let him do as he pleased, wide eyed and frightened. He wouldn’t make her have sex with him, right? That’d be coercion. Rape, in an aspect. He couldn’t be that mean, could he?

Mercer pressed against the girl’s back and yanked her arms away from her chest. The dress and breast band dropped to the ground. “Take off your boots. You’ll not sleep in them.” He said against her pointed ear tip. She tugged them off, incidentally letting the loose underwear leave her ankles as well. He turned her around and let her eyes run from her bare shoulders to her small breasts. The rosy peaks were taut in the cold night air. He restrained himself from touching her. He was a patient man and could wait. He followed the trail of her frame down to the soft curls nestled between her wide hips. “Lie down.” He pointed to the bedroll and she walked over to it, hands clenched uncomfortably by her sides. She felt his gaze on her like burning coals. She crawled beneath the blanket and curled up, facing away from Mercer as he settled in next to her. The bedroll was thin, and even if they both laid on their sides, they would be pressed together.

The master thief was still in full guild leathers. He laid on his back and draped one arm around her, forcing her to turn to him and press her front to his side. He situated her so that her head laid against his chest and her thigh and arm were draped across him. He closed his eyes, idly stroking her hair until he felt sleep pull him under.

She stayed awake for not much longer than he, but found it much harder to fall asleep with embarrassment stirring in her gut at his show of dominance over her. What he was doing to her made her feel like a toy, or a pet, something for him to have fun with then cast aside. Briefly, she regretted praying to Mara that he would turn from his path of thievery. Maybe he was right, maybe she was just a foolish child. Why would Mara let this happen? Thitte kept her sobs as quiet as possible, afraid that Mercer would awaken and make her feel worse without so much as touching her. The words he said and the things he made her do degraded her, just as he said. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to ignore the hot coiling in her lower belly. It felt like liquid of the Red Mountain pooling and writhing within her.

Mercer woke up first, glancing down at his barely moved wood elf. He blinked groggily, yawning and running a hand through her cold, silken hair. She might have been dumb and innocent, but he couldn’t deny the allure she had. He narrowed his eyes at her, looking over her face. She had surprisingly soft features for an elf. Mercer lifted his other hand, running a thumb of her lips. She stirred only slightly, opening her eyes, unaware of her surroundings and completely vulnerable. How had this creature survived in Skyrim? Thitte looked up at him, and paused. Even through his leather cuirass he could feel her tiny heart’s patter. It felt like gentle, fearful tapping. He left her side and let her cover herself up with the blanket. He ignored how she cataloged her body, as if making sure he didn’t do something to her while she slept. Mercer rolled his eyes at her lack of trust and grinned all the same. At least she was smart enough not to trust him. And it certainly didn’t help that touching her in her sleep did cross his mind a few times. The wood elf quickly gathered her clothes while he was turned away. He glanced out of the corner of his eye.

“Did I tell you that you could dress?” He asked, untying the horse and feeding it once again. She flinched at the question, but still tied her breast band.

“No, sir.” She said quietly. “B-But, I can’t ride nude… other people will see. I-It would be indecent.”

“I hardly care.” He turned around, narrowing his eyes at her. She looked away quickly, playing with the dress balled up in her little hands.

“P-Please..?” She grimaced, bowing her head, afraid to look at him. “I’ll be good..” After a long silence, Mercer sighed and shook his head, as if letting her get away with something.

“I’ll allow it. Bring me the bedroll.” He ground out, admiring how her body looked when she flinched. She nodded and quickly pulled her dress over her head and rolled up the mat, carrying it over to him then lacing her bodice. She tied the amulet around her neck and tugged on her sleeves while he adjusted the horse’s saddle. Mercer grabbed her hand to help her onto the saddle again. He felt a small and momentary pang of guilt as he seated behind her. The saddle was not meant to hold two people, so she was uncomfortably pressed against the ridge of the pommel and his front. Regardless, he dismissed the feeling and reached around her, and guided the horse from the campsite, taking off down the road with ferocious speed.

They stopped in Whiterun shortly before evening. Mercer left the horse at the stables and guided Thitte to the Bannered Mare with an arm tightly wound around her waist. She kept her eyes on the ground and her hood drawn tight, afraid to be recognized and punished for it by Mercer. He purchased room, bath and meal and nearly shoved Thitte into the room.

Thitte didn’t look at him, instead, choosing to run to the window, smiling childishly and looking out over the streets. Mercer watched her with his jaw clenched. She stood on her tip toes and leaned to the right, grinning widely and looking around and drinking in as much as she could see. Her little rear wiggled as she unsteadily tried to stand higher, to see further. The thief could take no more of it. He yanked her back by her shoulder and shut the curtains.

“If someone sees you, I’ll have us leave immediately and ride through the night.” He warned, steadying her on her feet and walking to answer the door.

Thitte frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of her dress. She let her mind wander. Was Belethor still trading little cakes and sweets in exchange for alchemy ingredients and other useful items she could find and bring? It seemed so distant to her. She was so little at the time that she lived in Whiterun, but she remembered it. Thitte wondered if Farengar was still the focus of a neighborhood children’s game called ‘startle the wizard and see how many bad words he uses’. She giggled quietly, remembering her winning a round of it by hiding under his enchanting table and grabbing his ankles while he was focused. She held the record high of 12 loud curses and 4 lightning bolts thrown at her while she ran away. Had the twins played the game after she left still? Did they still live in Whiterun? She blushed a little, lowering her head and remembering how they made a pact to marry each other, despite both of them being a few years older than she. She snickered under her breath, imagining how Maramal would react if she brought twins up to him and asked him to wed her to them. Both of them. She missed her childhood dearly. She’d never made friends in Riften, because the only ones there were orphans, and Grelod kept them under close watch at all times, not letting all the Nord, Imperial and Breton kids ‘talk to that untamed wood elf’.

Mercer closed the door again, dismissing the inn worker and turned around, hearing an odd sound. His elf was sitting on the bed and giggling like a child. Was she mad? That’d be a shame, but would explain so many things about her. He leaned against the door, listening to her and watching the grin on her face. Her attention was drawn towards the window and her eyes were distant. The thief cleared his throat.

“Come, Thitte. Bring your hood. Our baths are drawn.” He said, opening the door and waiting for her. She hopped up, pulling her hood up and sheepishly coming to his side. That pretty smile she had only moments ago had faded and she looked how she should: sad and fearful. He squared his jaw, leading her to the inn’s cellar with a hand on her lower back. She kept her head down, afraid to make eye contact with anyone. He let her go down the ladder first then followed her, finding the open stall with steam wafting out of it. He pushed her towards it and she stumbled but found her footing, walking over to it and frowning. Did he intend to bathe in front of her, or make her bathe in front of him? Either way she didn’t like where this was going. Mercer shut the stall door and started peeling off his leathers, folding them and setting them on the stool. The elf blushed, having gotten a peek at his surprisingly muscled back. She quickly looked away, training her vision on her feet. Were human men at his age supposed to be that built? She shouldn't be thinking about such base things.

“Undress.” He instructed, lowering himself into the water and looking up at her. She grimaced, but turned away so that he couldn’t see. Thitte pulled her dress off again, balling it up and setting it on the floor next to his clothes. She hesitantly removed her smalls and climbed into the basin, wincing at the scalding hot water but soon adjusting. The basin was wide enough so that her personal space was only slightly invaded by the sadistic kidnapper. He handed her a cloth and soap and looked at her expectantly. She took it hesitantly, washing off and trying her best not to look at the nude male in front of her. His movement made her eyes dart to him, unwillingly. He was moving towards her.

Thitte held her breath and looked away again, but stayed in place. She’d learn some of what angers Mercer, and tried not to do those things often, lest he embarrass her more. Her heart beat picked up and her chest felt tight with anxiety and something she couldn’t name, bordering on the feeling of fear. He turned her around so that she faced away from him and she shut her eyes in response. He tilted her backwards until all of her hair was in the warm water. He ran his hands through it so that it splayed out from her then set her upright again. He ran soap through her hair, occasionally brushing her neck or shoulders and causing her to lightly shiver. Mercer’s calloused fingers found the tapered tip of her ear and she flinched instinctively, blushing furiously now, though she didn’t know why. It was only her ear. She gasped when he brushed by it again, causing one side of Mercer’s mouth to twitch into a semblance of a smile. He tipped her back again to wash the soap out of her hair. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see his face. Would it be smug or angry at her blushing? Neither was something she wanted to see, so she clenched her eyes when she thought she made be visible to him.

Mercer let her up again, and pushed himself out of the water, startling her and making her look away again. He began to dry off then glanced down at her. Her legs were too short to climb out of the basin properly. He held out one hand and she cautiously took it. He all but pulled her out by her arm. She staggered and picked up a towel from the shelf, wrapping it around herself while she dried off with it, doing her best, for some odd reason, still to not let Mercer see her. The thief sighed and pulled an extra set of clothes on, gathering up his leather armor and glancing back at the elf. He’d half to buy her more clothes, but he couldn’t let her out of the room to go with him. She looked up at him, glancing down at the leather armor and then away. He made to grab her shoulder and push her out of the stall but decided against it, instead opening the door and ascending the ladder. She pulled her hood up and followed close, keeping her head down.

Back in the room, she hung up her cloak and stared at the window. He glanced down at the two plates of food. Seared Slaughterfish and Grilled Leeks. “Come eat, Pipit.”

She pursed her lips at the pet name he’d adopted. She didn’t look like a bird. Why did he do that? She bristled but walked over to where he sat and sat across from him, glancing around their room and settling down a bit.

She wanted to make a comment about him being a Magpie, then, because he stole things, but decided against it and ate instead. He handed her a bottle of mead and she defiantly shook her head. She’d rather go thirsty than drink that stuff. He narrowed his eyes and forced it into her hands.

“You said you’d be good,” He ground out. She realized it was a warning, less than a statement. She took the bottle hesitantly and sniffed it, as if checking it for poison. Was that something she could put past the thief? The honeyed drink slid across her tongue and she scrunched her nose up but drank it slowly, more afraid of what Mercer would make her do than disappointing her Lady Mara. She could apologize to Mara. Part of her should have found it funny, fearing a man more than a Divinity, but she was reminded that while the Lady was merciful, Mercer liked to humiliate her to prove his point.

When they were done eating he pointed to the bed and luckily didn’t make her undress. She laid her amulet on the nightstand and crawled under the covers, glancing up at him. He stared down at her for a moment. “I’m leaving for an hour or so.” He explained, approaching her. A quick glance down to his hands and she realized what he was going to do. She shook her head and backed up, but he would have none of it. He crawled on top of her and pulled her dress off, tossing it and shoving a leather strap in her mouth. He tied it behind her head while she looked up at him, pleadingly. He gripped her wrists and bound them, tugging her so that she was lying down and then securing them to the headboard, indecently. Mercer backed up and pulled the blankets up to her belly. “Scream, and I’ll break one of your bones. No one will help you, Pipit.” He pulled on his own cloak and grabbed his satchel before leaving and locking the door behind him.

She realized that if the innkeeper came in, she’d be too shocked and embarrassed at the aspect of walking in on something so… depraved, that she wouldn’t help Thitte escape. Thitte sighed, silently cursing all thieves then closing her eyes and praying once again to Mara. This time for lots of things. For forgiveness, for help, for escape, for Mercer, for Brynjolf, and for her parents.

Mercer walked out of the inn, glancing around, trying to remember the layout before walking to the market and entering another Breton’s store.

“Everything’s for sale my--” Belethor began but then recognized Mercer and grimaced.

“You remember me, then.” Mercer smirked at the man’s reaction and walked up to the counter. “I’m not here to collect, though may I remind you that you only have a month or so to pay. I’m here to buy.” He waved a finger towards dresses that were folded neatly on the counter.

“Should have never asked you for help.” Belethor growled, grinding his jaw but smiling at the customer all the same. “What can I help you with, thief?”

“I need two dresses, for a small Bosmer girl.” He said idly, glancing around the shop. This small action wouldn’t have been an intimidation tactic, except that Belethor’s store was the only one without a Shadowmark, and Mercer was appraising.

“Honeymoon?” He replied sarcastically.

“Something like that, yes.” Mercer narrowed his eyes. “Do you have anything, or not?”

“Yes,” The merchant sighed and sifted through the stack of clothes until he got to the smallest size. He handed it to Mercer. “Is this acceptable?”

“Yes. I’ll also be needing a Philter of Sleep.” The grey thief grinned.

“Gods save whatever poor girl you use this on, and gods let her not be around you when it kicks in.” He murmured, handing a small black vial to Mercer. “60 septims. For all of it.”

“Driving up the prices.” Mercer noted, but handed him the coin. “Your cooperation has been thought of.” The thief grinned again, leaving and walking back to the inn.

His elf had fallen asleep and a small trail of drool leaked from her pink lips where she couldn’t close her mouth. He hid the vial and sat the dresses next to his guild leathers. She stirred slightly, but not at the noise he was making. The tiny girl was having some sort of foul dream. He sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the way her face contorted with desperation. Her tiny body was arching off the bed and twisting and writhing almost sexually. What exactly was she dreaming about? He untied her hands, causing her to rouse from the dream. She blinked and looked up at him, dreary and down-trodden. He pulled the gag from her mouth and she quickly wiped her cheek. She dried her eyes as well, shifting on the bed to allow Mercer room. The thief crawled in next to her and laced his arm around her waist, holding her so that his breath was on her ear. She squirmed a little, trying to move herself from him. She turned on her side, sleepily moving against him and burying her small nose in his chest. Mercer stared down at her. Perhaps she was trying to seduce him to lower his guard and escape while he was distracted. He grinned at the thought of his innocent trying to seduce anyone, but along with amusement, his cock responded to the thought of her tiny hands on his shoulders, knees parted as she mounted his lap and pressed against him, similar to how she was at the moment. He shook his head minutely. She probably wouldn’t be able to do that even if he slipped her that drug he’d bought.

When he woke she wasn’t at his chest. He sat up suddenly, startling her. She jolted, jumping off the bed, backing up, with a hand over her rapidly rising and falling chest. Her eyes were wide and confused. He let out a shaky breath, angrily tossing the blankets off of him and dressing in his armor. He threw a dress to her and she cautiously dress, half hiding behind a small divider as best she could. The dress fit snugly around her hips, but was loose everywhere else, and just a touch too long. He sighed and sifted through his satchel. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. Thitte watched curiously, oddly entranced by his actions. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He counted out some coin and glanced at her. “I’m going to get food.” He considered tying her up again, but decided against it. By the time he came back, it would have only been a few minutes. She nodded and sat down on the bed, fidgeting with her dress hem. He walked out and locked the door.

Mercer walked down the hall and down a set of stairs, walking up to the kitchen and trying to get one of the women’s attention. Both Saadia and Hulda were arguing, pointing at the food and bickering. While they were distracted, Mercer changed the ledger, more out of retaliation for not being served immediately than necessity or profit. He glanced back. Neither of the women had noticed. He sighed and slipped a few apples in his bag, somehow still not drawing anyone’s attention.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, if you wouldn’t have been so careless, then the food wouldn’t be _ruined!_ How could you not notice the maggots in the meat?!” Hulda hissed, poking a finger into Saadia’s chest, and gritting her teeth.

“It was inside it! Not the outside! Blame the damn bosmer who sold me the shit!” The redguard snapped. Mercer cleared his throat loudly.

“One moment dear. Wait right there.” Hulda smiled and dragged Saadia out of the room to further admonish her. Mercer groaned and shoved a few more food items in his bag after wrapping them. He leaned against the table, waiting.

 

Thitte stood up, almost immediately after Mercer had shut the door. She grabbed her cloak and pulled the hood up. She waited only seconds but opened the window and paused. Mercer couldn’t be that well connected.

She hopped out of the window, using the framework of the inn to catch herself. The rest of the drop wasn’t as high as she thought it would be. She shut the window from the outside and ran for her life. She glanced over her shoulder a few times before running straight to Jorrvaskr. She knocked on the door, fractic. A familiar face opened the door and she rushed in, beneath his arm and hiding against the wall, glancing to see if Mercer was going to run in. After a moment she relaxed.

“...Thitte?” The large Nord narrowed his eyes and leaned down to get a better look. “By the Nine, it is you!” Farkas laughed before grabbing her and pulling her into a bear hug. She grinned childishly and blushed a bit at the reaction. She let her feet dangle off the ground. “What happened to you? Your father sent word, requesting aid we couldn’t provide. You were missing.” He set her on her feet. By this time, Vilkas had approached and didn’t hide his surprise.

“I got kidnapped by a thief.. can we go somewhere secret? He’s dangerous…”

“The Underforge.” Farkas told his brother. Vilkas hesitated but nodded. Vilkas put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the Skyforge. Farkas opened a door she didn’t spot and she was led inside.

“Alright, Thitte, tell us what happened. You’re safe in here.” Vilkas sat her on a bench and crossed his arms. Despite the man’s promise of safety, she kept glancing at the door and biting her lip. It'd been ages since she saw those two, and she couldn't remember if she could trust them entirely.

“From the _beginning?”_

“From the beginning.”

Thitte cringed and fidgeted again but nodded, trying to remember everything. “I was trying to help a man named Brynjolf.” Her shoulders slumped. “He tricked me. He said his friend was hurt. He brought me to this house and someone else tricked me inside.” The elf cringed, gripping her dress skirts, too embarrassed to make eye contact. “He said my father had to release one of his thieves from jail, or he wouldn’t let me go. Dad couldn’t do that, so Mercer said he’d keep me… I also retrieved a bow that the guild stole, for a friend. He said I stole it from him, so I had to pay him back. I clean their… headquarter place.”

“Why are you in Whiterun then? You didn’t run all the way from Riften.” Farkas was grimacing, now also nervously glancing at the exit.

“He doesn’t trust me.” She blushed suddenly and looked between the two men, deciding to leave certain events out. “He makes me go where he does so he can keep track of me. We’re going to Solitude for some reason.”

Vilkas narrowed his eyes, suspecting what she left out. “Did he rape you?” He asked bluntly. Thitte flinched at it and looked at her hands.

“Not exactly…”

Farkas snarled. “Brother, we should take care of it.”

“N-No, he’s dangerous.” Thitte said quickly, grabbing onto Farkas’s arm. “He’s really scary. Please, just… let me hide here.”

“How’d you get away from him? You’d think he’d keep you under lock and key.” Vilkas narrowed his eyes. Thitte shifted nervously.

“I snuck out of the inn while he went to get food.” She glanced at the door again.

“You can hide in here, we’ll not approach him.” Vilkas told his brother more than Thitte.

“But, brother--”

“If we approach him, he’ll immediately know where she is. We’ll be compromising her safety. The Underforge is safe, but not nearly as safe if he knows the Companions are involved.” Vilkas paused. “What’s his name? Is he a random thief, or is there some sort of ranking system?”

“M-Mercer Frey,” She said quietly. Saying his name to her childhood friends made it disgustingly real. She felt tears prickle at her eyes, but stifled them. “He’s their guildmaster. I think that mean’s he runs them…”

“Shit.” Farkas rubbed his face, deep in thought. “We could always send someone to beat up this ‘Brynjolf’ guy. That’d send the message. And technically, her father asked us to do something.”

“Farkas, we can’t--...” Vilkas paused and looked at his brother. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Thitte smiled a little at them. They didn’t change at all.

“Stay here. We’ll have blankets and such brought to you.” Vilkas patted her arm, and like that, both brothers were gone. She nervously paced. There were small windows. She hopped off the bench and walked over to one, looking out. She smiled at the small bird that pattered about on the ground outside. With a dark sense of irony she recognized it as a Pipit. She watched it titter and chirp. When it flew away in a panic she frowned, realizing there was a large Black-shouldered Kite perched on a branch, peering at her. She wasn’t much for symbolism, but she couldn’t help but to wonder. She ducked from the window, curling up in the corner least likely to be seen from the windows and covered her head.

Thitte didn’t even realize she’d been crying, but then she began to tremble. Despite what Vilkas told her and what she told herself, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that Mercer would find her here. Her heart broke and her will chipped just a little bit more. She leaned against the wall and hugged her knees.

 

Bag full of stolen food and hands full of purchased food, he walked carefully up to the room and unlocked the door. He set the tray down and looked around, not quite panicking at the missing elf. He peaked under the bed, in the wardrobe, even in a cupboard. “Shit.” He finally cursed and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and gripping the edge of the table as rage overtook him. He glared at the window, one hand ghosting idly over his dagger. He’d let that bitch sit comfortably and wait. He’d given her more freedom than he ever did with other captives. He let her sleep and eat and bathe. He bought her clothes so she wouldn’t have to wear dirty robes. He threw the table, gathering his things and shoving the other two dresses in his bag. He stormed out of the inn, glancing around. She wouldn’t have left Whiterun. She wasn’t smart enough to steal a horse and ride until her ass was half way through Hammerfell.

Mercer looked carefully around then went to the Temple of Kynareth. He entered and looked around.

The priestess, Danica approached him with a smile on her old face. “Where is the girl?” He growled. “The elf? Where are you hiding her?”

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of, friend. The only elf in this temple is Janessa.” She motioned towards the Dunmer who was nursing a wrist and shoulder. Mercer glared.

“A wood elf,” He specified, searching her face for recognition.

“I’m not hiding one here. But I did see one earlier.” Danica said, tilting her head.

“Where?” He took a step towards her. She backed up, absently glancing towards the exit. “Where did you see her?!” He snapped, lowering his voice and grabbing the priestess by the wrist.

“H-Heading towards Jorrvaskr.” She said, trying to pull her hand back. None of them owned a dagger in the temple, and this man had that and a sword at his hip. The best option if he attacked would be to play dead or run towards a guard. Luckily, it didn’t come down to that. Mercer left immediately, hesitating in front of the doors of Jorrvaskr. He couldn’t just walk in there like he did the Temple. He glanced at the ‘danger’ shadowmark and sighed, backing up from the stairs. He had to get them all out of there, then search their little hall. He sat on a bench beneath a tree, watching people enter and exit. His eyes narrowed on a tall dark haired man who was looking about, rather nervously. He opened up a door beneath the Skyforge and entered. After a while he came back out, looking much less worried. Mercer narrowed his eyes and made eye contact. The man’s eyes widened. Mercer grinned.

_There she is._

Mercer stood and the hulking Nord pulled the two-handed sword from his back. Mercer scoffed and approached.

“I believe you have something of mine.” He said, drawing his dwarven sword and elven dagger.

“She isn’t yours. She isn’t an object.” The man growled wolfishly and readied himself to attack Mercer.

“That’s where you’re wrong. She’s my pet.” Mercer narrowed his eyes. This man cared for his elf, it seemed. That could be used to his advantage. “Hand her over and I won’t punish her too harshly.”

“You won’t be taking her.” Another said. The second looked like the man in front of him. Mercer weighed his options then sighed, putting his weapons away.

“I see I’m out numbered, Companions.” He said. The bigger of the twins eased back, but didn’t put his sword away.

“You are, thief.” The second one rasped. Mercer nodded, glancing at him then turning his back and leaving.

The twins eased up.

“Brother, he knows we have her.” Farkas said quietly.

“Stay out here, but not near the Underforge, simply watch it.” Vilkas instructed, watching Mercer leave. “Thitte was right. He’s dangerous. His weapons are strong and worn. Likely he would have beaten you.”

Neither of them noticed it that night, when the door to the Underforge opened and closed. Neither of the twins heard Thitte’s muffled screams and cries as she was dragged out of Whiterun.

The stable boy gave Mercer a look, but it was too dark to see Thitte’s stricken and red face. Once again, Mercer helped her onto the saddle and climbed on behind her. The little elf was trembling furiously and holding her cheek and crying quietly.

They took off into the night.

“M-Mercer.. I’m s-sorry..” She sobbed, shivering and trying not to lean against him, or touch him at all.

“You defied me, Thitte.” He growled against her ear. She kept her eyes trained on the road. “I gave you a little bit of freedom, and you abused it. What do you think will happen to you?”

“I.. I’ll be hurt.” She said quietly. His eyes flicked down to her. He had thought of how he was going to punish her, and he knew what he was going to do, but he wanted her to think about it.

“How am I going to hurt you, Thitte?”

“You’re going to embarrass m-me… and make me do things and hit me…” She bit down on her cheek and lowered her head so that he didn’t feel her breath.

“Think about what I can take from you.” He ducked his head and moved the hair from her neck, speaking against her neck. He bit there. Thitte yelped, but was too frightened to move away. Instead, she just whimpered and cried.

“Are you going to hurt my parents?” She managed weakly. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again.” She pleaded desperately. _“Please don’t_ hurt my f-friends or my parents, I’m sorry.”

Mercer hummed in response and let her inner turmoil cause her to sob uncontrollably. Somewhere down the road, Mercer tugged the horse towards a roadside inn. He tied the horse and pulled Thitte from the saddle. He pulled the hood over her head and used the edge of it to wipe her tears away.

“Keep your head down, girl.” He said and put an arm around her shoulder, pushing her towards the inn. Once again he purchased a room and locked the door behind him. He stared at her. “I’m going to get food. If you run away one more time, I’m going to kill both of those men who were hiding you from me.”

“No! Please--please, Mercer, I won’t! I promise--I’ll never try to run away again!” She gripped her skirts, shaking.

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Stay, pet.” The thief walked out.

Thitte sat on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands, carefully healing her cheek where the mark had been. She slumped, but flinched when the door opened again. Mercer eyed her and sat the food down on the table. When she didn’t look up, he took the vial from his pocket and glanced at her again. He would make her _despise_ herself. Carefully, he dripped a small amount of the philter into her bottle of mead. He corked it and put it away.

“You can’t look away forever, girl. Come eat.” He pointed to the empty chair. Obediently she stood up and walked over. He motioned towards it impatiently, glaring at her. She looked away and sat down. Her face was blank. Thitte ate and drank without a word, a plea or a question. Certainly no defiance. Mercer watched, sipping his own drink and waiting for her to finish. Shortly after she finished only some of the mead, a blush crept to her face and she was shifting in her seat.

“Tired, Thitte?”

“Y.. Yes, Mercer.” She glanced up at him and looked away quickly. “I-I think I’m getting a fever.” She pressed a hand against her cheek and looked at him worriedly. “It’s warm.. can I please go outside f-for a moment?”

“I can’t trust you to go outside.” He said, smothering the urge to smile at his victory. He covered it up with a snarl. “If you’re warm, take off your cloak and dress.” He dismissed, eating his food and ignoring her for now.

Thitte stood from the chair, glancing at Mercer nervously and shrugging her cloak off. She neatly folded that and her dress, almost instantly feeling a bit better. The elf crawled into bed, lying on top of the sheets and facing away from Mercer. She felt physically warm and sluggish and some sort of itchy. She tossed and turned restlessly, breath becoming ragged. With a small gasp she recognized the source of heat from her lower belly. It felt wrong. Sinful.

Mercer watched as his elf pressed her thighs together and tried her best not to admit what she was feeling. Though, it couldn’t be that long. The potion, despite its name, would not let sleep claim her, even if satisfied. It was a cruel drug. “What’s wrong. Thitte?” He asked bitingly, though he couldn’t say he minded the little show. Watching her squirm was it’s own sort of victory.

“I think I’m sick.” She said after a while, and turned to face him. Her eyes were dark with lust. Her face was painted with a soft and insistent blush. “I don’t feel well. My spell won’t cure it... “

He almost laughed at the idea that she tried to use a healing spell to fix her temporarily increased libido. Her lips had reddened from where she bit at them. Her pitiable eyes were hooked on his.

“You don’t look sick.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the bed. She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. He schooled his expression and looked down at her, feigning indifference. Indeed, her face was burning just as she said.

“I think it’s a fever…” She said almost breathy at the simple and chaste contact. Mercer made a low humming noise and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m not letting you outside. You can just lie right there until it passes. It doesn’t look fatal.” He left the bedside, pulling off his armor and settling into regular clothing. Mercer lounged in a wooden chair, watching her from across the room. Thitte sat up a bit and leaned against the headboard, occasionally glancing over at him. The thought occured to him: Did she even know what she was feeling? “You sure it’s a fever?”

“I-I think so… it might be a flu.. my belly feels weird.” She placed a hand on her abdomen. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and stared pointedly down at her legs. They were pressed together but provided no relief from the torturous burning sensation that nestled between her thighs. Thitte shut her eyes, summoning healing magick to her hands once again. She held it over her belly and grimaced. Nothing came of it. She dismissed the glow.

Thitte sighed heavily and settled down into the bed, trying to sleep once again.

The master thief stood, lying in bed next to her and making her bristle at the small contact. He raised his eyebrows, somewhere between mild surprise and annoyance when she turned on her side to face him. She stared up at him shyly.

“I’m sorry for running away.” Her voice was small and frightened. “Are you going to hurt my parents?”

“I haven’t decided.” Mercer’s eyes were cold.

“W-What do I have to do? Please… I don’t want my parents to be hurt… or my friends. Please?”

Mercer narrowed his eyes. At least she was catching on. He sat up and looked down at her, but he didn’t say anything. She waited and sat up carefully, still blushing and trying to cover herself. “Pleasure me and I’ll consider having something similar to mercy.” Thitte frowned and looked away but nodded.

The elf girl crawled over him, stopping just in front and unlacing his pants with trembling fingers. She hesitated and looked up to meet his eyes, still only being responded to with cold neutrality. She pulled the front of his pants down enough to release his erection. Her quaking hand wrapped around the base of it and moved slowly along it. She shut her eyes and timidly licked the head of his cock before taking just a small amount of him in her mouth. He resisted the urge to buck into her hot mouth, and instead, gently brushed the hair from her face. The small and delicate action caused her to open her eyes and look up at him. She closed them again, as if getting some sort of praise in the form of gestures. Emboldened and relieved that he was not forcing her to choke like last time, she slowly sunk to his base, doing her best to relax her throat, but still gagging uncomfortably. Mercer grabbed a handful of her soft hair, causing her to clench her eyes in preparation, but continue her ministrations. She experimentally swirled her tongue around his head and looked up at him to see if he would react. His face gave away nothing but his hand was shaking ever so slightly, so she did it again, feeling as though she had a small amount of power.

Power? Her chest tightened almost painfully at the thought. This wasn’t power. By Mara, she was disgusting for… was she _liking_ this? She was depraved and the evidence was the slickness in her core. She’d only ever felt it a few times, but never this strongly. Even when she had, there was nothing she usually did about it, she didn’t recognize it, or chose not to, she simply ignored it. This time, however, the burning and aching was impossible to ignore. Mercer shifted a bit, causing her to press against his knee. Thitte’s quiet but responsive moan transferred as pleasure to his member. As she bobbed up and down, tears of embarrassment pricked at her eyes. She couldn’t like this. She was a lady--a virgin--she was to be a priestess, not a toy. Not a thief’s toy, much less. Mercer had other plans. and forced her head down to take him in all the way as he twitched with his climax.

“Swallow it.” He instructed. She hesitantly swallowed his seed, shutting her eyes tightly. His thick liquid felt hot in her mouth and stomach. “Good girl.”

She looked up at him at the sudden praise and almost smiled, but settled on pulling away from him. “Have I done good enough?”

“I’ll give you the choice.” He said and waited until she made eye contact again. “I can either hurt you, or hurt Dinya. That is the dunmer’s name, isn’t it?”

“I..” She let the horror reflect in her face as she backed up as much as possible from him. “Hurt me?”

“Yes. Someone has to pay for your incompetence. Did you think it would go unpunished just because you sucked me off like a common whore?” He said casually, tucking himself back into his pants. Thitte frowned deeply and wrapped her arms around herself, not able to meet his eyes. “Your choice. I can hurt you, or the priestess.” Mercer tilted his head, catching her eye. He wasn’t sure how she was still coherent. Did she not give into anything carnal? He did however, note the fogginess in her stare and the way she occasionally pressed her thighs together. Even through that, however, the damn girl was crying again.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

“M-Me. Don’t hurt Dinya..” She finally said, again looking to the side. Mercer grabbed her arm and dragged her from the bed. He forced her to stand and bound her hands to one of the bedposts. She panicked when he pulled her smalls down and untied her breast band. He pulled them away from her and stood back. When she tried to turn her head to look he snapped at her.

“Face forward, or you’ll get hurt worse than I intend.”  He said, pulling leather strips from his bag. It was not a whip, but he hadn’t thought to bring one when he left Riften.  He gripped them from the very base, twisting them together there in a mockery of a handle and gripping tightly. The first lash was on her lower back. She jumped and whimpered in resignation. “Don’t scream, unless you want the innkeeper coming in and seeing you like this.” He reached back and put full force behind the strike across her ass. It immediately turned red with a welt and broken blood vessels. She dropped her head and cried. Not exactly the reaction he wanted, so she received another strike, this time across the shoulder and catching her ear. She yelped and ducked her head. “How many was that?”

“Th-Three.” She croaked. Her back rose and fell with deep breaths.

“How many do you think you deserve?” He asked and landed another across the backs of her thighs. She almost collapsed with that one, biting her lip and groaning.

“I don’t know.” She breathed weakly. Thitte was regretting not letting someone else go through it, but would her friends hate her if Mercer hurt Dinya? She didn’t think it was likely, but they surely wouldn’t love her anymore. She ripped violently from her thoughts by a series of hard lashes. She cried out, but bit down on it, keeping it as quiet as possible.

“How many are we at now?” He asked.

“I-I don’t know--I wasn’t--Ah!” He struck her straight down the spine mid-sentence.

“That’s one, we have to start over now.” Mercer grunted, twisting the leather strips again and landing a much lighter strike across her back. He followed with five more. “How many?”

“S-Seven.” She whimpered, leaning against the bedpost, legs shaking from the effort of standing.

“The next time you move, we’ll start over. You’re getting twenty.” He informed her, “And one for each time you raise your voice.”

She nodded and bit down on her tongue, shutting her eyes. Another landed just below her ass. She felt a trickle of blood and cringed. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven came much harder than expected, twelve, thirteen and fourteen followed quickly and just as forceful. Embarrassingly, her groan was twinged with pleasure.  “How many?” He asked.

“Fourteen.” She said quietly, afraid of displeasing him and receiving more. Fifteen and sixteen were almost gentle compared to the last few. Seventeen, Eighteen.

Then a pause.

She restrained herself from lifting her head and looking back. Nineteen hit her on her rear, forcing a stifled gasp from her. Twenty was laid between her shoulders.

Mercer set the leather strips down, walking up to her slumping form. He ran a hand over the beautifully red and raised marks on her back. She flinched at the contact and whimpered. His fingers slid along the slight cut on her rear. Instead of painfully reaction, his little elf was squirming with something she’d been trying to stifle since she felt it. The pain had helped her snap out of it, but now it seemed to be doing the opposite, almost as if it was fanning the flames.

“Did you enjoy that, Pipit?” He asked accusingly, drawing his fingers away from her thighs and looking at the evidence of her arousal.

“No, sir.” She said breathily.

“I think you’re _lying_ to me. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He snapped and she looked up. Her eyes were puffy and red, but could have been mistaken for a blush. He pushed the digits into her mouth. “Do you know what that is?” He growled, pressing his front against her back and causing her to whimper in pain at the contact to her abused skin.

“N-No, sir.” She sounded genuinely distressed. He paused and looked at her. There was the possibility that this disgustingly innocent little elf had never actually masturbated or anything of the like.

“It’s your arousal.” He said against her ear. “It means you liked it. That you want to be fucked.”

“I-I don’t… I took a vow of celibacy.” She whimpered, shutting her eyes and almost leaning against him. He placed on hand on her ribs, just below her breast. She bit her lip, feeling as though the touch burned. She wanted to move, to twist so that he was cupping her breast, instead. The elf did not, however, act on her impulses. She was a lady. 

“Things like vows and virtue don’t matter. Not truly.” He traced a thumb on the underside of her breast, causing her to shudder. “Empty ideas and empty words.”

“I don’t like it.” She panted. “I don’t like this feeling.” Her voice was thick with lust and desperation.

“Do you know how to get it to stop?” He murmured against her neck.

“No, sir.” She shrunk away now.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Pipit?” He untied her hands and she stepped to the side, covering her breasts and looking at the floor as if she had done something wrong. She shook her head. “I think you’re lying. I bet you have.” He stepped to her and backed her against the bed. “I bet you touch yourself a lot.”

“I-I don’t! That’s dirty! That’s vulgar!” She argued, trying to back up, but only tripping and landing on the bed. She gasped at the contact to her ass and whimpered, sitting on the bed to get away from Mercer.

“It’s dirty, and you like it.” He accused, grabbing her thighs and forcing them apart. “See? You’re completely soaked.”

“No!” She protested. “You’re disgusting--I--It’s not my fault!” Part of that was true. The potion had definitely hit her full force, but he heard the pleasure-laced whimpers she gave him.

“If it’s not your fault then just touch yourself.”

“N… No.” She shook her head and managed to get away from him again, pressing her thighs together and pulling the blanket over her protectively. Mercer yanked it away and threw it to the floor. “Don’t touch me.” She said quietly, glaring at the floor and hugging her knees. Mercer reached but pulled his hand away and walked over to the table. He sat down and took a sip of his ale, watching her. She curled up on her side, trying to ignore the feeling.

“I-I hate you…” She cried. “You’re disgusting--and vulgar--and rude, and you’re the opposite of a gentleman!”

“Then why do you get wet when I punish you?” He stated, looking her up and down, making her shrink away.

“I don’t.” She denied, shaking her head.

“I bet you think about that sort of thing when you touch yourself. You deny it, but I don’t need your confession when the evidence is right there.” He shrugged. “If you want it to stop then touch yourself.”

“I…” She began but shut her mouth, closing her eyes. “I can’t do that in front of others… that’s… indecent.”

“Then suffer.” Mercer said indifferently, directing his attention towards the way she was breathing. With each breath her small breasts trembled as she exhaled shakily.

Thitte looked at the graying thief then turned away, facing the wall and hesitantly letting a hand fall to her legs. Sure she has once or twice, but it never brought her any fulfillment, and just made her feel dirtier. But the pull was so strong, this time, that she couldn’t resist. Curious and inexperienced fingers glided between her legs, pressing there and rubbing slightly. She ground against her fingers, doing her best not to let the thief see. Even if he said to, it still felt wrong, and she wouldn’t dare make a sound. At first. However, the slight rubbing only made it worse. It made the feeling grow, and soon she was panting and squirming with need. She dipped a finger into her passage, biting her lip and trying not to moan. She curled it, targeting the feeling of heat. It didn’t help. She gave up. She sighed shakily.

“What? Such a prude you can’t even get yourself off?” Mercer spoke up. Had he been watching her? She blushed at the thought. The idea that he did… no, she wouldn’t let such depravity take root in her mind. She shut her eyes and ignored him. “I asked you a question.” He was suddenly next to her. He pulled on her shoulder until she was laying on her back. “I expect an answer.” He growled. She flinched a bit and looked away, trying to remember what he asked.

“No..”

“No to what? Being a prude or getting off?”

“I-I can’t.. do the second.. thing.” She bit her lip and turned her head away. She gasped when she felt him crawl over her. His hand found her breast, kneading roughly and unappreciative. She shut her eyes tightly. “I don’t want to have sex with you.” She tried to say firmly, but it came out as more of a plea. Her trembling, she realized, wasn’t of fear. Not entirely.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” His hands traced down to her sex. She arched to his touch but kept her eyes shut. He pushed a finger into her, and still met resistance. For a brief moment he let his surprise show, but quickly diminished it. Luckily, she was still trying to deny the situation and didn’t see it. Gods, she was tight, and he was getting hard again just at that. When had he become so easy to please?

She moaned quietly when he curled the finger and inserted a second. She felt full, from just his fingers, and dirty, from him. Looking down at her, forcing her to look back with a strong hand on her jaw. She whimpered and began to buck against the hand. She almost cried when he pulled it away. She was gasping and spasming at the sudden emptiness. Instead, he waited until she was away from the edge and almost delirious before thrusting his fingers in and roughly pistoning them.

A shocked cry escaped her lips and she threw her head back. Her tiny hands balled up the sheets as much as they could, gripping and pulling desperately. This time he let her climax. She moaned and breathed deeply, coming down slowly from her high. Finally she felt ever so slightly sleepy.

Mercer laid down next to her, grabbing the blanket from the floor and tossing it over both of them. She hesitantly curled up against him, shivering now. He narrowed his eyes down at her but put an arm around her, idly tracing the marks he made on her back. The thief smiled at the idea that they would be there for a while. Beneath her clothes and up against his back on the rest of the way to Solitude. She whimpered again but did nothing to stop him. He looked down at her, to find caramel brown eyes staring back up at his. It would have been unnerving, had it not been a look of what might have been reluctant admiration of some sort.

For the rest of the night, Thitte kept her eyes shut tight and feigned sleep.

In the morning, Mercer found her still awake, tiredly crying with frustration and self-loathing. She looked up at him when he shifted and he felt a small twinge of regret, but easily dismissed it. He crawled out of bed and tossed a clean dress to her, pulling on his armor and strapping the blades to his hips.

The ride to Solitude was hard for her. Her thighs were chaffed and still hurt from the whipping, and her back was rubbing against his armor painfully. On top of it all she felt dirty. Worse than the night before. How could she let the man touch her? How could she like it? Surely, she was ruined for anyone who wanted her later in life. What would her knight think if he or she knew what she let this man do to her? She knew she liked it, not matter how strongly she tried to brush it off. The way he looked at her sent shivers down her spine, and every time she heard him say “pipit” she felt a little bit of fondness for the name. Mara, help her.

By the time they arrived at the inn, it was dark again, but this time, Mercer had collared her like a dog and attached it to the headboard. He left her there naked and alone in the dark room, but she didn’t protest much. Instead, she just wrapped the blanket around her and finally slept, cocooned in the covers and feeling secure without the thief beside her. When he came back with someone in tow, she didn’t look at them, though she did wake. Curiosity got the best of her when Mercer lit a lantern and hung it. It was a young man, no older than she was, dressed in blue. He was a redguard with a lute strapped to his back. Mercer tossed him into a chair and ripped the blindfold from him. He blinked in the light, but didn’t protest. He glanced around and made eye contact with Thitte. She blushed and pulled the blankets closer around her, taken back by the boy’s good looks. He smiled briefly before receiving a strike across the face. The small moment of fluttering Thitte had was gone as Mercer ripped it from her. The thief looked back at her, glaring venomously.

“What did you see?” Mercer growled at the redguard.

“I saw you relieving Pantea of her valuables.” The young bard shot back. Thitte swallowed thickly, as if feeling the rage or perhaps embarrassment Mercer was feeling at being caught. Mercer ground his teeth, resisting the urge to slice the boy open right then. “Don’t think I can be bribed!”

“Oh, I’m not going to bribe you to keep quiet.” Mercer promised darkly and glanced back at Thitte, who was looking between them with wide eyes, frightened more for the boy than herself. “Thitte, bring me my satchel.”

The elf almost shook her head, but with another glare, she got out of bed, hoping the chain would reach, and this wasn’t another thing to embarrass her. It rattled as she walked to the dresser, doing her best to keep herself covered with the relatively thin blanket. She grabbed the small satchel and handed it to Mercer. He picked a small shiv from it. The shiv shimmered with a fire enchantment. Thitte stood there, waiting to be told to leave his side or put the satchel away. He handed it to her to hold it and move towards the boy.

“Tell me, Ataf, what does a bard need more, his fingers or his tongue?” Mercer stared down at the sharpened blade in his fingers, twirling it with delicacy.

“W-Wait, don’t do this…” Ataf shook his head. “It’s .. I…”

“Both?” Mercer glanced back at Thitte. “Pipit, would do you think I should cut off or out? Tongue, or fingers?”

The elf shook her head, looking at the boy. He returned her stare, with desperation, silently pleading for help.

“I won’t tell anyone!” He said quickly when silence began to thicken and Mercer moved. “I won’t tell a soul! I never saw anything!”

“H-He sounds honest, sir--I th-think he won’t.” Thitte was trembling again. “Please let him go. Please.”

“Not without retribution.” Mercer mused. “I’ll be merciful. What hand do you use the least, bard?”

“M-My left one.--Wait! Don’t!” Ataf screamed in agony as Mercer grabbed his hand and sliced off his smallest finger first, waiting for the boy to recover. Thitte clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror and tears in her eyes. She glanced at the door, hoping someone had heard them. There was a mint-green glow she recognized as a muffling spell around the door. Her stomach dropped painfully with fear. When the boy’s screaming stopped, Mercer cut off his ring finger.

“Mercer--stop!” Thitte grabbed Mercer’s shoulder, trying to pull him away. “Please, stop!”

The thief glanced down at his elf and narrowed his eyes.

“Would you like to take his place, my Pipit?” Mercer asked coolly. The bard was incoherently begging for help. His eyes were rolled back. Thitte fell silently and looked between her. She held her own hand, as if trying to hide her fingers. She nodded hesitantly, head swimming with fear and prayers. Mercer looked a bit surprised. He shrugged and cleaned the blade off on his tunic. “Your lucky day, bard.”

When no one moved, Thitte slowly approached the bard, taking his injured hand and healing the bloody spots where fingers used to be. The magick stopped the bleeding, but didn’t seal the wounds. Mercer hadn’t stopped her yet, so she hesitantly grabbed a linen rag, tearing it with a bit of struggle and wrapping it around his hand. Ataf watched her behind pained eyes. Once she was done, she stood up straight, waiting for Mercer’s punishment.

Sure enough, he grabbed the chain and tugged her towards the bed, flinging the blanket away from her and causing her to flinch. He quickly pinned her down with a firm arm on her ribcage. She panicked but stayed still, holding back her tears and trying to look strong. He pinned her legs under his and ran his hand over the swath of skin just belly her belly button. He pressed the shiv against her stomach and looked up at her. She was trying not to cry, but she was frightened beyond belief. He dragged the blade over her, not yet cutting, but letting the heat of the blade make her squirm. Then he began to carve, just above her sex.

She screamed as soon as the blade pressed into her flesh, moving in a way she recognized as an ‘M’, then ‘E’, then, ‘R’, then--she let the tears fall from her eyes. He was scarring her. Marking her with his name permanently. The agony of the blade was almost dwarfed by her feelings of fear, disgust and anguish. She had asked for this, but she wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than losing a few digits. At the last letter, her head was thrown to the side, tears staining her rosy cheeks. Her mouth was drawn into a thin line, but he wasn’t done decorating her previously unmarred skin. Just below his name, he carved a vertical diamond, with two circles, overlapping in the center. He wiped the blood away from the Shadowmark and looked up to her face. She looked broken, but he knew better. That was far from the truth. He leaned down and planted a kiss on the cuts before wiping off the burning shiv and putting it away. He glanced back at the bard and felt a small amount of anger.

Mercer grabbed the bard by the throat. “Well, bard. You lost two fingers and scarred a priestess of Mara.” He motioned towards where Thitte lie spread and bleeding. She realized she had eyes on her and tried to reclaim a bit of modesty by closing her legs and pulling the blanket over her. “You know,” He mused. “I kidnapped her, just like I did you. I lured her into my manor, and tied her up and took her away from her parents. A guard saw her follow my associate into an alley. One of her father’s friends. I had his throat cut.”

At this, Thitte sat up, wincing when her cuts opened again. She lowered her hand and healed them as best she could. They only scabbed over. Still, his name sat above her sex. The full force of the cuts hit her. She realized anyone she would lay with would see who had touched her, who had marked her in such a violent way. She looked up at Mercer sadly. Had he really killed someone because of her? _Gods, why had she agreed to help Brynjolf?_

The bard swallowed thickly, guilt and regret washing over his features. Thitte looked away, tightening her grip on the blankets. Mercer untied the bard and opened the door, shoving him out. “Remember, _if I hear about thieves at the college or what happened in this room,_ I’ll have you killed.”

The boy ran away quickly and Mercer shut the door, renewing the spell on the door and glaring down at Thitte.

“Why did you do that?” He asked harshly and grabbed her arms. “Why do you insist on playing hero?”

“Mara has mercy, and her followers provide it where she cannot.” Thitte sat up, defiantly, pushing the thief back. Mercers eyes widened a fracture as he stumbled back, tom-cat gracefulness forgotten.

“Even at their own expensive? Your ideas of romance are **ruined.** On your wedding night, when you give yourself away to some unappreciative noble, or demented priest, or never present knight, they are going to see this.” He pressed his thumb into the shadowmark, causing her to cry out. “They are going to see it and know you belong to someone else!” He yelled. She recoiled at the foreign fury.

“But I don’t! I’m your captive--not your property!” She hissed, scowling at him.

“You are. You’re mine.” He repeated,  grabbing her and pinning her back on the bed. She fought against his hold.

“I’m not! I’m not a possession!” She screamed, trying to hit him with her tiny fists. He held them above her head.

“You’re mine. I stole you. I’m going to keep you--” He cut himself off, slamming his lips to hers and digging a hand in her hair to hold her face to his. She squirmed and hit him in the jaw, but he returned the pain by biting her lip.

“Stop!” She yelled, managing to get away long enough to pull away from the disgusting mockery of a kiss. “Stop!”

Mercer growled but let her go. She slapped him across the face, grabbing the dagger from his belt and holding it towards his throat. Thitte’s grip was weak on it, but Mercer didn’t yank the blade away from her. Instead, he held steady eye contact.

“Gonna kill me, Pipit?” He asked, unmoving and unwavering.

“I-I might.” She shakily pressed the tip of the dagger into his neck.

“Then you could get away from me, and go back to your parents and your Temple.” He tested. “With hands wet with blood.”

“It w-would be justified!” She drew a bit of blood and flinched, drawing the dagger away. As soon as it wasn’t against his neck, he seized her wrist, hard enough to bruise. She dropped it and he put it back in its scabbard. He looked down at her coldly. “A-Are you going to punish me?”

“For what? You wouldn’t have done it.” He shrugged casually and started to remove his armor. His words stung. “Go clean up.” He pointed to the basin. She hesitantly moved so that the chain would reach and she walked over to the water, wetting her hands and running them over the wounds a few times until the water in the basin was cloudy with her blood. She stared at it then ran a finger over the cuts, healing them again.

“Can’t you leave me in Solitude? Or Morthal? Why can’t you just relocate me until my father pays?”

“No, you’re mine and I intend to keep you.” He glanced over at her. She shivered, but blamed it on the coolness of the water.

“Why?” She said quietly. “I hate you… I want to be free..”

“As all little birds do.” He dismissed. “I want you, so I’ll keep you.”

“Why do you have to be so cruel?!” She cried but he grabbed her chain and pulled her to the bed, unbidden of restraints to his lust now. He ran hands over her hips and tugged her closer, admiring the way his name looked carved into her skin. “Stop touching me!” Thitte turned to move away, but he grabbed her around her shoulders and drew her into an embrace, burying his nose in her hair. She shuddered at the feeling of it but stopped struggling. “Please…”

Mercer glared for a moment, but pulled away from her, lying down and turning away from her. She laid next to him, hesitantly. She curled up and slept while the thief didn’t touch her the entire night.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning, they didn’t say a word to each other, but rode steady back to Riften, only stopping in Whiterun, and never once camping. Back in Riften, Mercer led her through the cemetery until they were in the cistern. He hadn’t let go of her arm until he had her chained to the wall behind his desk. She curled up against the wall, hugging her knees and angrily staring at the ground. No one dared approaching her with their boss standing there, but when he had left, Sapphire had taken the opportunity. She walked over and sat in front of her.  Sapphire hesitantly reached out to her, but when Thitte flinched, she frowned and pulled away. She knew that look of resignation and fear. Thitte carefully turned her head to see the brunette thief.

“Who was it?” She asked quietly.

“No one raped me.” Thitte whispered, hugging her knees tighter, as if trying to hide the mark Mercer had given her.

“Are you lying to me to protect him?”

“He didn’t rape me.” She glanced at his desk. “I’m not lying. Even if I were, I would be lying to protect me. Or you."

Sapphire sighed and glanced back to her friend, who had walked over to see what was wrong, or rather, what a wood elf was doing, collared like a mutt to the Guildmaster’s territory. The blue eyed thief stood up, knowing there was nothing she could do nothing for the girl. She motioned Thrynn away and left the elf to sulk.

Later, Mercer  returned, removing her ‘leash’ from the wall and dragging her to the tavern part of the thieves’ nest. He forced her roughly into a chair, making the still-healing lashes on her back sting and cry out to her. She kept her eyes down, face still red with crying, but too embarrassed at being paraded around by a collar, tugged around by her sadistic ‘owner’. He pushed food in front of her and she glared at him, leaning forward to sniff it. Upon not smelling any poison she hesitantly took a bite. She glanced around finally.

There was Vex, a pretty white-haired Imperial woman leaning against a few barrels, looking through letters and occasionally discarding one. Brynjolf, she recognized, was sitting with an aging red guard woman, speaking in whispers. Dirge, the bouncer who had threatened her was picking at his nails with an iron dagger. Thitte glanced behind her. The barkeep, Vekel was scrubbing a bit of blood off of the counter, being hounded by an older man named Delvin, who glanced back in time to make eye contact, and admittedly looked surprised at seeing Thitte. Receiving a territorial glare from the Guildmaster, he returned to his conversation with Vekel.

A tall Altmer had entered, in frightening red and black armor. He walked over to Mercer, without a hint of trepidation that everyone else had when dealing with the master thief.

They spoke in hushed tones, and Mercer passed him a file full of papers and shooed him off. The fellow elf made eye contact, tilting his head to get a better look before grinning and walking off. Thitte shivered and returned her gaze to her meal, eating slowly, not wanting Mercer to yank her back to the desk where she had to sit on the floor with the uncomfortable collar pressing her throat.

“Hurry up and eat, we’re going to Dawnstar.” Mercer barked at her, causing her to drop her spoon. “You stupid elf.” He growled, clearly annoyed. She picked it up again from the table and ate a bit quicker. When she finally finished, Mercer did indeed drag her. All the way back to Riftweald, where he left her leash in the hands of the Imperial mercenary who had stopped the Nord from getting more than his hand cut off. The mercenary let her sit on his bed and even gave her water while she was waiting. She liked the Imperial mercenary.

Mercer came back with a pack full of things. He grabbed her chain and looked to the Imperial. “Kill anyone in here you don’t recognize.” He said and pulled Thitte’s hood up, hid the chain in his hand and put his arm around her, walking her out of Riften once again. He pulled his own up and paid a carriage driver, leaving his horse in the stables. That much, Thitte was grateful for. It was a two day ride to Dawnstar, and Thitte slept against his shoulder almost the entire way, only waking up when he made her eat or drink something.

At Dawnstar, they stayed at the inn, where she saw another priest of Mara. Mercer had removed her collar and chain with a small threat to take her virginity and kill her parents if she tried to run away again. She had nodded, and after dinner, they settled into bed. When she was sure he was asleep, she carefully shimmied out of his grasp.

Sometime during the night, he felt his elf slip out of his arms. He kept his eyes closed and listened to her tiny breaths. She left the bed, but he let her. He wasn’t sure why he simply let her leave the bed, but he did.

Thitte quietly opened the door and shut it behind her, finding the elderly Dunmer sitting near the fire, reading. He looked up and smiled at her amiably. Her heart fluttered and she pulled a chair near him, feeling safe near the priest.

“Y-You’re a priest of Mara?” She said hesitantly, playing with her skirts nervously.

“I am. Our Lady Mara helped me through a dark time, so now I serve her wholly.” He nodded. “You are looking for guidance, young cousin-mer?”

“I..” She grimaced. “I feel like I’m turning away from our Lady… --I was studying to be a priestess before… I _went_ … with the man I am with.” She said carefully, afraid to get this kind priest hurt by the thief.

“Oh.” He almost lit up, and he grabbed her hand, but paused. “You ran away with that man? That Breton?”

“ Sort of.” She shook her head, focussing on the fire. “I think Lady Mara might have… put me with him. Why else would she… let everything that happened occur…? Right?” Thitte idly played with the amulet around her neck.

“Perhaps that is so, child.” Erandur hesitated. “But you should know that sometimes, other powers are working against our Lady. She cannot help everyone. If you find yourself questioning her love for you, perhaps, you simply need to remove yourself from what is coming between you and the Lady.”

Mercer crept out of the bedroom, staying in the shadows and watching his elf talk to another person. He heard what they were saying.

“But, you should know that some people are beyond help. Beyond our Lady’s help. If they do not want to change, then they cannot.” Erandur said, sadly. “I’m afraid there is no hope for some people.”

“What of him? The… Breton?”

“The thief, you mean.” Erandur smiled at her and she jumped, shaking her head.

“No!” She said quickly. “No, you can’t tell anyone--promise me.”

“I promise. Your secrets are mine.” He nodded. “I think he is beyond help. I think you’d be best to keep better bedmates.”

“H-He’s not my bedmate. I took a vow of celibacy.” She let go of his hand, nervous and blushing. “He’s.. a travelling companion.”

“Regardless.” Erandur said, hesitantly. “You said you were studying to become a priestess?”

“Yes. I’m from Riften. I studied under Maramal in the Temple.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit.” He mused. Thitte smiled at him and took off her amulet, handing it to him. He looked surprised, but wrapped his hand around it.

“Go. Sell that and go. Stay in the Bee and Barb.” She smiled widely, remembering staying at the tavern to help the stumbling drunks find their homes. “Don’t tell them you met, me though.”

“I… you’re an odd girl.” He smiled, giving her a quick embrace. “Thank you, this means so much to me. More than I can say.”

“You’re welcome.” Thitte blushed prettily and looked to the flames. “I have to return to bed. Goodnight--and thank you, priest.”

“Erandur.” He corrected. “If you need anything…” He glanced towards the shadows, making eye contact with Mercer. “Anything at all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he returned the gesture. She had forgotten how nice it was to feel an embrace of someone who didn't try to own her. Thitte left and entered the room, crawling carefully into bed before getting back out, panicking at the lack of Mercer there.

“ _Something wrong, Thitte?”_ Mercer asked, leaning back against the door and casting a muffling charm and locking it. She held her breath and slowly turned around to face him.

“I didn’t try to run away.” She said calmly. “I was just… getting fresh air. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Fresh air and a dark elf?” He said, cocking his head to get a better look at her. “Trying to seduce him to get him to help you?”

“--No! He’s a _priest!”_   She said quickly.

“And you’re going to be a priestess, but that hasn’t stopped me from touching you.” He said, stepping forward. “Since you only ran away for a few minutes, what do you think I should do?”

“Don’t hurt me.” She cringed. “Please… I’m tired of hurting.”

“Is that so?” He brushed hair from her face. She looked away. “I want to fuck you, Pipit.”

“No!” She tried to push him away, but he held fast. “No. Y-You can’t take my virginity.”

“I don’t want your maidenhead.” He said, grazing his fingertips from her breasts to her cunt. “I would be perfectly fine with your ass.” He rubbed her through her skirt and she gasped.

“I-I don’t want you.” She said harshly.

“I’m fine with that.” He lifted her skirt, pushing his hand into her smalls, purposely grazing the cuts he left on her. She grabbed his arms, shivering and pressing up against him. “Why aren’t you pulling away, Pipit? I think you like this. Which is it you like more, little bird? My rubbing, or the way I’m going to force you down and fuck you until you can’t walk?”

“N-No.” She denied, shaking her head and burying her face in his tunic. He threw her onto the bed and pulled the dress over her head, ripping her smalls from her and breathing against her neck.

“You’re getting wet, Pipit.” He told her, dipping a finger into her entrance, then into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. “See what I do to you?”

“No.” She groaned when he thrust two fingers into her. She bucked against them, blushing and shaking her head. He curled them and rubbed her insides, pressing a thumb to her clit. “I don’t want this, Mercer--stop!” She slammed her hands against his chest, only managing to infuriate him.

“Thitte, stop.” He warned, but she did it again. “You’re misbehaving.”

“You don’t own me!” She cried, gasping when she felt him bite harshly unto the side of her breast, gnashing the tender flesh between his teeth and causing her to scream, more of surprise than any real agony. Just then, he sped his fingers up, rubbing almost viciously against her clit and rubbing the front of her walls. Her hips bucked and her legs kicked and she did all she could to pull herself off of the tortuous orgasm. Her skin lit up just beneath the surface, as if stricken with lightning. She arched her back, grabbing onto Mercer’s hair as he kissed her again. She bit at him and he returned the favor, and she got so lost in the feeling of the moment she didn’t realize she was mirroring his actions and kissing him back. She settled for tearing at his hair. The thief continued to pump his fingers in and against her, driving a consecutive, almost painful orgasm from her oversensitized clit. She screamed, throwing her head back and convulsing beneath him.

Mercer bit her throat, sucking at her pulse and leaving yet another mark on her. After her screams became pained instead of pleasured, he pulled his skilled fingers from her core and flipped her over, bringing her onto her knees and forcing her face into the mattress. She whined in protest, but was too tired. to do any real damage. He used her own juices as lubrication and eased one finger into her ass. She gripped the sheets and gasped at the foreign feeling.

Thitte shut her eyes tightly. This was wrong. Letting him do this was wrong, but she didn’t want to stop him. She wanted this, and before realizing she was rolling her hips to meet his fingers. She was moaning like a tavern whore into the bed sheets, but couldn’t make herself stop.

Mercer watched as his elf began to accept his actions. He pulled the finger away and she glanced back, blushing feverishly and shy. He pulled off his own clothes and lined himself up at her ass, pushing the head in and making her scream again, this time purely in pain. He hadn’t prepared her enough, but what he did, he did on purpose.

Gasping for breath and keening, Thitte buried her face into the bed. Shudders and a stinging pain wracked her lower body as he slowly pushed in. Once hilted, the thief reached around her front and pressed against her clit again, causing her to jump and voice her disapproval, though words were far from her mind and throat. He leaned over her form as he began to rock into her. His thrusts were deep and languid, almost sensual. He pressed against her nub and slowly grinding against it with a calloused fingertip. Teeth grazed the shell of her ear and bit harshly on the lobe, leaving an imprint and eliciting a whine.

“You like this, don’t you?” He whispered. “Say it or I stop.”

“Don’t stop!” She gasped, burying her face into the bed. She tried to move back against him, but her legs were trembling too much for that. He pulled almost completely out. “I like it-- _Gods,_ don’t stop!”

“Good girl.” He breathed, thrusting into her forcefully. “Beg me for it.”

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. She needed to get away, she needed to tell him to stop, but she couldn’t fathom the thought with him pleasuring her as he did.. “I won’t.” She managed, moaning into the sheet.

“Beg.” He repeated, drawing out and shoving back in to the hilt, causing her to cry out.

“T-That hurt,” She gasped, glancing back at him, but quickly looking away, finding that she couldn’t look him in the eye. As if sensing her predicament, he pulled out of her and flipped onto her back, reentering her and kneading her breast with one hand and grasping her jaw with the other, forcing her to look up at him.

“I said: Beg.” He warned, holding eye contact and rocking slowly again.

 _“Please, Mercer.”_ She breathed, closing her eyes. Thitte wrapped her legs around his waist. “Please don’t stop.”

He began to pick up pace, hand leaving her breast and trailing down her soft skin to her clit, where he pinched harshly. Thitte bucked against him, crying and begging as he slowly brought her towards another almost painful orgasm. Then he ceased rubbing and stuck the wet fingers in her mouth. She moaned in response, wrapping her pink tongue around them and licking them clean, before sucking, almost a natural reaction to him.

She whined when he took the fingers from her, in order to grab her hips. Her protest didn’t last long, because he began to ram into her, much harder than she had expected. Mercer lowered his face to hers and pressed a kiss to her lips, much more gentle than the last ones. She returned the favor, but quickly began biting and exploring. Not to say that he minded, and certainly not to say that he didn’t retaliate.

Approaching his climax, Mercer grunted and reached down, thrusting his fingers inside of her and pumping them just as quickly as he was with his hips. She screamed, grabbing onto his arms, shoulders, back, anywhere she could reach and claw. He growled and bit her neck again, just over the spot he left and sucked at it again. She bucked, feverishly gasping and rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. As he felt her clamping down around his fingers, he let himself orgasm, twitching and doing his best not to collapse on the small elf.

She looked up at him and hesitantly kissed him again, more slow and much more tired. He returned the gentle kiss, turning on his side, still inside the girl and holding her to his chest. She sighed quietly against his lips tracing her fingers in an exploring manner of her face; his cheeks, his chin, his lips. Tracing over scars with curious motions. They fell asleep like that, not waking until late in the morning.

He left her quietly and glared down at her, looking at her content face, his name, her chest as it rose and fell with the soft breaths of her sleep. He scowled and cleaned himself up, pulling on his armor. Thanks to the little distraction still lying in the bed, he had missed his chance to complete his job for the week, and would have to wait another 7 days, just to get the opportunity. He made up his mind.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Thitte, wake up and dress.” He instructed, nuding her side. She swatted his hand away and sat up, sleepily leaning over and pushing the hair from her face.

“ _Ow_..” She groaned, putting one of her small hands on her belly and looking pointedly at the thief. He smirked and turned away, allowing a grin to tug his lips. He packed his things in his bag before returning the scowl to his face and turning to face her. She was pulling her shoes on and looking around for her amulet, before apparently remembering what she did with it.

She finally got up, but not without wincing. “Where are we headed now?” She asked, looking up at the thief as they left the inn. She didn’t see Erandur on the way out and frowned a bit at that. She hoped he was okay, and _far away_ from Mercer.

“Winterhold.” He grimaced. “Stop talking.”

“Winterhold?!” She lit up. “As in--where the College is?!”

“Yes, there’s only one Winterhold, you stupid girl.” He growled down at her, hitting the back of her head and causing her to momentarily stumble. “I told you to stop talking.”

She began to say something else, an insult, but shut her mouth and decided to just walk slower instead, passive aggressively sneering at Mercer. He glanced behind him, glaring at the Bosmer and causing her gaze to fall sheepishly at her feet, which shuffled faster, all thoughts of defiance lost. He held out his hand and helped her onto the carriage’s tall foothold. She scurried into it and made enough room for Mercer. He sat right next to her, setting wrapped food in her lap and handing her a bottle of heavily drugged mead. Heavily being a few more drops than last time of his now favorite potion he knew of.

She pressed her full lips into a line and looked down at it before breaking off bits of the poorly cooked and dry bread. It seemed that with every bite of the over-baked bread, she had to take another sip of the vile honeyed alcohol.

It wasn’t long until they were halfway to Winterhold, and she was shifting in place, occasionally glancing between Mercer and the driver, who hadn’t spoken the entire trip.

“Something wrong, Thitte?” He raised a brow, looking her up and down.

“No... “ She bit her lip and stared straight ahead, trying not to look at the grey thief. She hesitated and sniffed the mead before freezing up and doing her best to keep calm. Thitte slowly looked up, schooling her face and only eyeing Mercer from her peripheral. She gripped her skirts, anger coursing through her like the waters of a sea, wide and consuming.

Mercer glanced down at his elf. So she recognized what he’d slipped into drink. Faster than he expected from the girl, she was straddling his lap and pressed up against him, eyes dark and filled with hate. She glared at him, lips ghosting over his just barely. He only let his surprise show for a second before he drug his hands up to her hips and pulled her flush against him.

“One day, I’m going to take revenge on you.” She promised before smashing her lips to his, biting and gasping and brutally gripping onto his shoulders. He returned the kiss, cupping her ass and squeezing when she bit ever so slightly too hard. His own blood filled his mouth and hers.

Thitte purred in response, grinding against him before abruptly pulling away, just as the driver turned to see what happened. The elf was back, proper in her seat, blood cleaned from her mouth and eyes delicately placed on the passing treeline.  Mercer on the other hand, had a bloodied lip and erection straining painfully in his guild leathers, and shock that was not too well hidden. How could she start something and not finish it, with that awful aphrodisiac in her blood? Then it hit him. Quite potently. The little bitch had pocketed the vial from him while she straddled him and somehow got him to swallow it with his own blood. He shot her a look when he recognized the aftertaste of it and his elf smirked up at him. He growled, beginning to plan how he would hurt her when they got where they were going. She was clever. The blood had completely covered the taste at first.

For the rest of the ride, every time his arousal would finally subside, thin and lethal fingers would ghost over his thigh, over his crotch, just enough. The entire ride, he would glare death towards her, but was unable to do anything, because each time he reached to, the driver checked on them, glancing over his shoulder before nodding and looking back at the road. Mercer hadn’t wanted to kill or bribe the driver, but his elf was tempting him more than he’d like to admit. And even the most stoic thieves had their limits. This one seemed dead set on finding his, and throwing him towards them.

When they reached Winterhold, she followed just a step behind him, finding it much harder to walk in the knee deep snow, when she was much shorter than any of the locals, and even Mercer, who had never been known for his towering height.

They approached the bottom of the bridge to the College and Thitte grabbed his hand, squeezing it excitedly, apparently forgetting all she did to him in the carriage. Some part of him was mad, but the other was grateful. She’d cry and beg when he would break her, then. If she’d forgotten.

“Halt!” An Altmer called. “What’s your business here?” She yelled over the wind.

“I’m here to see the Arch-Mage. My name is Frey.” He informed her calmly. She recoiled and scowled at him, but stepped aside, casting spells and lowering what looked like a huge ward, only to resurrect it when the group of three passed a waypoint. They were walked up to a large building, guarded by a breath-taking statue. The elf was awestruck, but ripped from it violently and malevolently by Mercer yanking her inside and up a set of stairs. He hesitated halfway through and descended again, walking her into a large room and planting her firmly on a bench.

“Stay. Here. Or I swear by all Divine and Daedra, I will make you suffer.” He warned and took off. She nodded and crossed her legs at the ankles, watching a Khajiit fire a frost spell at the wall, smiling all the while. He was talented, and had froze the fire-enchanted wall after only a few seconds of holding the spell. As if sensing eyes on him, the Khajiit turned and nodded a greeting to her before returning to his practice. The ice on the wall had melted, then evaporated. He continued to spellcast.

After a while, a fellow mer, though dark in nature joined the Khajiit and began to converse with him. Thitte frowned, feeling the loneliness of her situation hit her. Mercer would soon take her away from these people. People she didn’t even get to know. She looked down at her shoes and folded her hands in her lap, repressing the urge to sigh.

As if sensing that she didn’t want to see him, Mercer showed up and tugged her in the direction of a closed door. He pushed her inside of it and locked it behind him. Thitte staggered and glared at him for a moment.

“We’re staying for three days, little Pipit.” He spoke up against the silence. Finally, the wood elf looked around the room, finding it had a bed, and few other amenities, but also contained a regal looking enchanting table and a wide window, with enchanted drapes to keep the cold out. “You won’t leave this room.”

“I will have to eventually.” She looked him up and down and turned her head defiantly.

Mercer sighed exaggeratedly before approaching her swiftly an gripping her face, turning her to him completely. “Thitte,” He said gruffly. Just at that the fear had returned to her eyes. “The next time you do something to make me angry, I’m going to give you a lot more than this.” He held her face only a few inches from his own and jabbed a finger into the cuts of his name. The still sore and healing skin of it protested harshly and she let out a pathetic whimper. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She tried to look away, but that resulted in another jab. She made eye contact, tears forming in her wide eyes. “Yes, sir.” She repeated more quietly.

“Good girl.” At those two awful words, her heart fluttered and she smiled a little. “Get in the bed, and go to sleep.” He let go of her. She hesitantly pulled her shoes off, pushing them out of the way and crawling into the rather large bed. She pulled the covers up to her nose and looked up at Mercer, expectantly. He watched her before leaving. She grimaced as the door shut. Had the Muffle spell just been meant to frighten her? Wasn’t he going to punish her for what she did earlier?

Her attention was drawn towards a Dunmer when the mage revealed herself by dropping her invisibility spell.

“ _By the eight_ , are you alright?” She ran up to Thitte and grabbed her shoulders. The Bosmer flinched, but nodded quickly. “I saw Mister Frey drag you in here, and.. oh gods, what are you _doing_ with him?”

“H-He kidnapped me.” She confessed, yet the words felt false on her tongue, as if she had went willingly with him.

“I knew it!” The mage looked her over again. “That vile bastard.”

“And there’s nothing you can do,” Thitte added, dejectedly. The mage sighed and nodded, lowering herself to make eye contact with Thitte, who looked up at through her lashes.

“That’s… that’s true. I’m sure even Arch-mage Savos could do anything. Mercer’s proven that many times before. He’s like a cat, you know? If he sees something that you like, and you simply don’t bow down to him, he’ll paw it off a shelf and shatter it! Did you know that he stole every soulgem and scroll and potion in this entire building once? Even the ones in the midden!!--Not that I’ve been down there.”

Thitte must have been around Mercer much too often, because she found herself growing increasingly annoyed with the rambling girl. “I would like to sleep, please,” She said, ever calm and polite. “I am sure I don’t have long without him and I would like to sleep before he returns and punishes me.”

“O-Oh, of course!” The Dunmer smiled as if she hadn’t picked up on Thitte’s subtle annoyed glance. The Dunmer left the room and Thitte jumped out of bed to lock it behind her. She grumbled groggily and trudged back to the arm bed, discarding her clothing to the floor and curling up beneath the fluffy covers and sighing contentedly. 

 

"You have a week to think about what you plan to do. After that, you accept my offer, or you will regret it deeply. Are we clear?" Mercer ground out, glaring at the arch-mage, then leaving abruptly to find his elf. He knelt and picked the lock, entering silently and treading to the bed in the dark. He glanced down when he stepped on something odd. She had discarded her clothing? 

Thitte rolled over in her sleep, taking up most of the bed, or rather, as much as she possibly could, being so small. Mercer pulled off his own clothing and slipped into the bed next to her, gathering up the small elf and holding her possessively to his chest. She made a noise of protest, but nothing more. Then she nuzzled his neck, burying her button nose in his scuff and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding on tightly. He glanced down at her to find her looking up at him, guardedly. 

It was an odd expression to see on his elf. Usually she was so open and forthright with her emotions and feelings, but now he couldn't tell what she was thinking. 


	9. Chapter 9

Just like that, Thitte moved so that she was on top of him, straddling just above his pelvis and keeping her face at his. He simply watched through lowered eyes, almost afraid to move, that any sudden movement might stop whatever was happening. For a moment, Mercer was convinced she was going to try and kill him, because her tiny hands wrapped around his neck.

Soft lips brushed his, but still he didn’t respond. A bit encouraged, she began to kiss him in earnest, initiating inexperienced exploration when he parted his lips. He shut his eyes and hesitantly kissed back, hoping the action wouldn’t frighten her. Then again, if she stopped, he could always make her start again. However, her coming to him like this, was new and surprisingly a lot more pleasant than anything he began. Now she was bold, but her hands were trembling ever so slightly. One grazed his neck and brushed along his cheek and ear before burrowing in his hair. The best way to describe her movements would be fumbling, but that didn’t stop Mercer’s body from reacting in a rather positive way. His hands found her hips and his cock found itself brushing up against her bottom.

After a few minutes she pulled away a bit, and opened her eyes, staring down at Mercer. Confident that she wouldn’t try to flee, he sat up, repositioning her so that when she was settled, he wouldn’t be inside of her, but just up against her front. When she shifted, his shaft was rubbing against her clit and her breasts were against his bare chest. When he glanced down to meet her eyes, he noticed the intense blush and decided to act accordingly.

Instead of his usual roughness however, he rewarded her with gentleness. After all, she’d been obedient and.. surprising. There was no need to punish her. When she began to grind against him, he ran a hand through her hair, pushing it from her face, then dragging her lips to his, with a hand on her jaw. She complied gladly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

 _“Mercer,_ ” She whispered against him when they broke for air. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Please… let me..?”

He opened his eyes and stared for a moment, unsure of what she was asking for. Still, he nodded. He couldn’t find it in himself to shake his head with her looking at him like that. Her eyes were dark with lust, and nervous all the same. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and her lips were swollen and red. She looked all the part of innocence, except that she had arched her back and was grinding her soaking cunt against him.

Then she lifted her hips and he let his surprise show. She was hovering just above, head parting her lips and just slightly inside of her. She looked up at him, just slightly frightened.

“I-Is it going to hurt?” She whispered, gripping onto his shoulders and blushing horribly.

“It will.” Mercer answered, leaning forward and breathing against her breast. “For a moment.”

“I trust you.” She gasped when he bit at her breast before taking a small pink nipple in his mouth. Her head fell back when his teeth lightly gnashed the delicate skin and sucked at it. After satisfied with the reddened color of it, he went to the other one. Small pleasured noises escaped her lips, causing him to grip her hips ever so tighter. The wait and suspense was torture. Having her so close, so close to defilement and destruction of her maidenhood, by him, no less. Having her moan and gasp and whisper his name and claw at his shoulders. At some point, he recognized the feeling of his skin almost crawling with anticipation.

Thitte glanced down at Mercer, still too frightened to go through with it, but she knew she would be too embarrassed if she pulled away now. She jolted when his hand found her clit, pressing gently and moving against it. Almost involuntarily, she molded to his touch and mewled in pleasure. Then she was whimpering and he could feel her twitching around the tip of him with an orgasm. She was panting for a moment before she looked him in the eye, lowering ever so slightly. He felt her natural lubrication dripping down his shaft and gathering at the base. Mercer recognized the spark in her eyes; she was waiting for him to do it. He obliged, grabbing her thighs and digging his fingers into the plump flesh and shoving her down onto him.

She screamed and her nails dug into his chest. He might’ve cast the muffle spell, if he weren’t confident that no one would dare approach. Even for the delicate little elf.

Then it was as if their movements exploded. He hardly gave her the time to adjust before bucking into her. She got the hint and rose up from him, keening and whimpering all the while, only for him to slam her down again, eliciting another pained cry. As much as she sounded as though she were hurt, he felt the way her walls clenched around him, trying to pull him deeper. Mercer focussed on trying not to give her any pain, but was more focussed on his own pleasure than hers. She had already come, from his fingers, and now it was time for her to repay the debt. Then he was snapped out of his almost trance. He hadn’t even realized his head was tilted back, or that his neck was exposed, until he felt breath against it.

“K-Kiss me.” She said weakly and looked up at him through her lashes. “Kiss me, Mercer.”

He gripped her chin between forefinger and thumb, claiming her lips as she asked, and being disgustingly gentle with the girl. However, it was rewarded, because now she was rolling her hips, dragging off of his cock, only to glide back down half a second later. Still, he kept a firm grip on her hips, guiding her movements with that.

She broke away from the kiss suddenly, gasping. Mercer was confused for a moment, but kept that solidly to himself. Experimentally, he thrust into her and got the reaction he expected. With a nearly triumphant smirk he wrapped one arm around her, holding her to his chest. His arm was like an iron bar, keeping her trapped against him. Her fingers scratched and grabbed uselessly at his flesh. He began to pick up the pace, being sure to hit the spot that made her squirm so delightfully with each pump. She whimpered and tried to move away from the overbearing and intense pleasure, not quite sure what was happening.

“Mercer,” She looked up at him again, panting and trying to kiss him through her near-stupor. He gripped her hair with the hand holding her down and dragged her face up to his, holding his still as she writhed. She was the most vocal partner he’d ever had that he hadn’t paid before. His thoughts were only confirmed by her incoherent murmuring against his lips and moaning as she came for a second time. He wasn’t long after, but this one caused his head to tilt back and vision to go white. She was his perfect fit, and he’d never come so ferociously in his life, but then again, he never got so much pleasure from someone willingly giving him their virginity either. Thitte sighed contently against his neck.

After he recovered, he moved so that they were laying down again, with her facing him in his arms. She nuzzled into his chest, resting against the finely haired surface. He hitched his thigh between hers in an attempt to get closer. This action caused a small smile to tug at her lips and her small hand to drift up to his hair, running through it, brushing with her fingers and lovingly playing with it. 


End file.
